nine2five season 2
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: Collecting all the chapters of the season 2 episodes into a single story. Chuck, Ellie, and Sarah set out to recover Chuck's mother, Mary Bartowski, aka Agent Frost. To do that they'll have to topple the criminal empire of Alexei Volkoff and his vengeful daughter, Vivian.
1. Snake in the Grass

**A/N** When I started to collect the chapters of the first season of nine2five, I added them to the existing prequel, which was perhaps a mistake. For this season I'm creating a whole new title to collect everything under. For those who might expect this new season of nine2five to be just like the old, sorry, but no. Season 3 of Chuck had a single, very strong story, that just needed to be revealed. The episodes pretty much wrote themselves. Season 4 of Chuck had four distinct plots, none of which are really able to stand on their own.

The first two, with Frost on the one hand and Vivian on the other, have been fused together more completely than they were, or could have been, in canon. The new Frost/Volkoff plot includes Frost, Vivian, and Alexei in one story, with the defeat of Volkoff, the redemption of Frost, and the corruption of Sarah and Vivian all taking a longer and more plausible amount of time to accomplish. That plot is the backbone of this season.

Nine2five has no use for the other two, the proposal and wedding plots, since this story started with Chuck and Sarah already married. Elements of the show, including entire episodes, that were devoted to those plots were jettisoned as necessary, or repurposed wherever possible. Some material from seasons 3 and 5 was also brought into the mix. Canon S4 had 24 episodes, while nine2five season 2 has 17.

* * *

 _"Welcome home, Mrs. Bartowski."_

* * *

Chuck woke before Sarah, before the alarm. For a little while he just lay there, enjoying the feeling of Sarah's warmth against his side and her even breathing as she slept, trying to let it lull him back into a doze. Instead he felt her hand move, fingers pressing 1-2-3-4 against his skin under the covers. _Status?_

He pressed 1-2-1-2 against her back. _Green._

She sank back into sleep, trying to recover from her vacation, her long-delayed honeymoon, before she had to get back to work. The Deadly Scorpion League passed into history even as it was created, thanks to them, a terrorist network that made masterful use of public transportation to hide in plain sight. Chuck had sniffed them out and she had taken them down, and Carina and Casey had made the greatest sacrifice of all, dealing with local red tape to turn their captures over to the appropriate authorities. They had to use _some_ name in the reports.

Chuck could not get back to sleep so easily, his body's clock still in the air somewhere between Budapest and home, thanks largely to his lovely wife and a bed that didn't sway on the tracks. With their partners still entangled elsewhere, and their boss not expecting them home for another day or two, they'd gladly put the night to good use.

A little bit. Sarah was perfectly capable of adjusting her body's clock pretty much at will, but he and the Intersect lacked that skill. Have to talk to Ellie about that. When he saw her in… _what time is it, anyway?_

Chuck reached out a hand, feeling around for his cell, kept off for the duration of their trip. Not that they planned it that way, it just sort of happened. Casey and Carina may have been sort of semi-on duty-ish, but he and Sarah were really into their roles as vacationing honeymooners. Anyone they might have wanted to hear from knew that. As for the rest…

The screen lit and he checked the clock. Just like he'd thought, still stupid o'clock in the morning here, even if his body insisted it was time to get up. He put the phone down and settled back to go back to sleep if he could, or feel Sarah snuggling next to him if he couldn't. A win-win if he'd ever heard of one.

His phone started beeping.

Sarah's grip tightened around his chest.

Chuck flashed, utilizing a combination of skills from three separate disciplines to get out her arms, out of his bed, out of the room with his traitor phone pressed against his chest, all without disturbing She who must not under any circumstances be disturbed. Once in the hall he held the phone away from himself to check the message that had come in.

 _Go to your computer._

His computer? Who the hell would be contacting him by computer at _this_ hour?

No, really. Who _would_ be contacting him by computer at this hour?

Only one answer came to him and he didn't much like it. Sarah would like it even less, and he really doubted Orion had staged this little meeting to let her get her hands on him. Good thing she was asleep right now. He could take the meeting and fill her in later.

* * *

Sarah Lisa Don't-call-me-Walker stalked out of their bedroom, unhappy. "Chuck!" She stomped down the hall (in spite of the bunny slippers currently padding her feet) and cornered him in their dining room/nook/piece of floor, looking boggle-eyed but not especially afraid. That would change. She had a deadly projectile in her hand and wasn't afraid to use it. "A pillow, Chuck?" she yelled, throwing it at his face. "If I'd wanted to wake up holding a pillow I would have married one."

Miracle of miracles, she got him square in the face, his Intersect-powered reflexes failing him. "Sorry," he said, catching his pillow before it could fall to the floor. "I had to act fast, and you wouldn't let go. I knew ninjitsu and acrobatics were in the intersect but the pillow-fighting was a surprise."

"'Act fast', Chuck?" she repeated, confused. "So I wouldn't wake up? Why?" When he didn't answer right away she changed her voice and tactics. "Come on, husband," she teased, sliding herself into his lap, "You should know better than to try to keep a secret from a spy."

"Says the woman whose bridal shower was held in the middle of an FBI sting operation."

"That was Carina's fault, not mine," grumped Sarah. "Stop stalling."

Repeated exposure to Sarah's seductive wiles did not render him more immune, rather the opposite. "I, um, yeah," he said, dropping his gaze to see what his hands were doing, which was no improvement. He looked up again, at her face, her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes that were even better than cleavage for holding his attention. "No, no secrets, not from me. Not a spy, no sir, uh, ma'am." He crossed his heart. "No secrets, no lies."

She frowned at him. "I hope you're not implying that you think I would keep secrets from you, or lie to you."

"Of course not," he blurted out, "Except, you know, national security and all…"

"Being a spy is my job, Chuck." She put her arms around him and snuggled in close. "You're my life now. I have no secrets from you, no lies to tell, and thank you for that."

"Uh, Sarah?" he said in her ear, sounding breathless. "You. Lap. Rationality…slipping away…"

She got off his lap and walked away down the hall. Chuck's wits returned to him but she was faster, now clad in a floor-length fluffy robe that left everything to the imagination. "No secrets, no lies. Feminine wiles are optional. Now spill."

Chuck reached out to the table and picked up his cell phone. "I got a message from Dad last night."

"Tell me you got a hit on his location."

"Um…about six feet underground." He handed her the phone. "I knew you'd want to see it, so I got it on video."

She sat next to him, called up the video app.

" _Hello Chuck. If you're seeing this, that means I wasn't able to stop this message from sending. Which also means, I'm dead."_

She paused the recording. "You think he really is?"

Chuck sighed, fiddling with a salt shaker. "I…don't know. I mean, you've chased him so far underground that he might as well be, but…I would have trouble believing he was dead if enemy agents shot him in front of me." His hand twitched, salt flying everywhere.

She nodded, taking the salt shaker out of his hand. "He did blow himself up in a helicopter right in front of us, and that was fake."

"Yeah, boys who cry wolf have nothing on spies who play dead, but mainly it's just that he's _Orion_ , you know? He's too cool to die."

She looked at the screen and saw Stephen Bartowski, a very flawed man, not a dream. Definitely not an icon. "Everyone dies, Chuck."

"Doesn't mean I have to believe it." Suddenly he looked boggle-eyed again. "Or maybe there's an apprentice Orion out there, carrying on the legacy."

"Maybe I should listen to the rest of the message," she said, starting the video again.

" _What do I say about that? Um, I- I'm sorry. And - and - well I hope you and your sister know how much I love you - loved you. Now I need you to do something for me. Something secret. You better get a pen."_

She stopped the video again, shaking her head. "First he tells you it's secret, then he tells you to write it down?" said the spy, amazed. 'He tells you it's secret and the first thing you do is tell me' _,_ thought the wife, pleased.

"Well, he wasn't about to trust electronic recorders, too easy to hack, but really he should have had more faith in me and my magic memory." He needed coffee for this next part, and distance, so he got up to get both.

" _I never wanted you to be a spy_."

"Well, that makes three of us," muttered Sarah quite audibly. Chuck had only wanted to be worthy of her, and _she_ was a spy.

" _I knew how dangerous this world is, what it does to the people in it. Boy, do I know that."_

Chuck gave Sarah one of those looks, and she gave him one right back. Apart, they'd almost lost themselves in the spy world. Together they'd saved each other from it.

" _That's why I kept something from you. Something about me -about Orion. I've been a spy for the last twenty years, working for myself. Doing things governments have been afraid to do."_

Facepalm. "Not afraid, you idiot," snarled Sarah, fingers white from squeezing the phone as hard as she wanted to squeeze Orion's neck right now. Trying to avoid chaos. God, the harm that one lone rogue operative could wreak, especially one of Orion's abilities. A twenty-year history of potential international incidents, with no known cause. Beckman would plotz.

" _Maybe being a spy is - is in our blood. And - and maybe I should have... told you all of this long ago."_

"Yeah," thought Sarah, "Because that would have just cleared everything right up, wouldn't it?" She dropped the phone on the table, letting it play as she cradled her head in her arms.

" _But Chuck, your story is only just beginning. It's time you knew the truth about my work, and the people who tried to destroy me. Because if I'm gone, then you're not safe from them anymore. Neither is Ellie. These people they are ruthless, cunning and - Chuck, it's - it's time you learned the truth about your family. 'Cause I did all this for her."_

* * *

"'Her'? Her who?" asked Ellie, pausing the app. They'd broken radio silence to contact her, of course they had. Any 'truth about their family' would affect her too, how could it not? If anyone deserved their loyalty, their trust, she did.

"Who do you think, El?" said Chuck from where he leaned against the wall, anything but casual. "He sure as hell didn't do anything for _us._ "

"Chuck…" Ellie looked at him, brown eyes wide, lips pursed, as they always were when she had some overwhelming emotion she wanted to keep contained.

"He's right, Ellie," said Sarah, making breakfast. "Your father left you, when you were barely able to look after your brother alone."

"He left us to protect us."

"From what?" Sarah completely botched the flip, ruining the perfect symmetry of her pancakes. "From enemies that _he_ made, people trying to destroy _him_. Running away may have been for you, but it didn't help you, it just avoided doing any more harm than he'd already done."

"Sarah, I know that you're mad at him for what he tried to do to Chuck, but that doesn't make him a bad man."

Sarah brought her imperfect products to the table. "I didn't say he was a bad man, Ellie, but he's a pretty lousy father."

Ellie picked up her fork out of a sense of duty, but her father wasn't here so she left the phone where it lay. "Is there anything else on that video?"

"Just an address and some other directions, sis, but they're for LA, not here."

Ellie gulped down the piece of pancake in her mouth. "You're going to LA? You just got in."

Chuck sat at the table, taking her hands in his. " _We_ are going to LA, Ellie, I can't do this without you."

"We can't go to LA, Chuck, we've got work to do."

"You're kidding, right?" asked Sarah, pouring another batch. "Orion's spy will? Beckman will fly you there herself."

* * *

"You're absolutely right, Sarah," said Beckman, post-plotz. "Ruse or not, we can't afford to ignore any possible revelations about Orion and his schemes. Chuck and Ellie will go to LA immediately and report their findings."

"But…General…"

"I'm sorry, Agent Bartowski, but I have need of you elsewhere. Disturbing evidence has come to light from your excellent work in Europe. Interrogations of the members of the DSL–" no way she was going to call it the Deadly Scorpion League, especially since she'd been the one to use the name first "–have revealed the growing influence of new players in the wake of the Ring's collapse. Colonel Casey and Agent Miller will brief you in Prague."

"Yes, General."

"Dismissed."

* * *

"Chuck, is that what I think it is?" asked Ellie as they pulled up in front of the address in LA, later that night. A brother and sister on compassionate leave had no trouble getting a westbound flight.

Chuck parked the car, sat and stared. "Yeah, El. It's our old house. I thought I recognized the address."

"You and your magic memory. I haven't thought about this place since we had to sell it."

They got out. "Looks like Dad kept it in the family anyway," said Chuck. "Maybe he did something for us after all." He looked at the house critically, as it blended in perfectly with the neighborhood in spite of being uninhabited. A spy's house. "Remember how surprised the realtor was when we got more than our asking price?"

It got her through Med School, although they ate a lot of beans and rice as well. "You think that was Dad?"

"I think–" He pushed the lockplate under the doorknob to one side, revealing a scanner, and pressed his thumb to it. The door made a noise, and opened easily. "Anything's possible, sis." The rooms they peeked into on their way to the den looked mostly unchanged, with lots of drop cloths everywhere. He flipped the light switch in the proper sequence, and they watched as the floor moved, revealing a secret basement.

"Can this get any weirder?" whispered Ellie.

Chuck gave her a nudge. "Go on, Alice, it's just a rabbit hole. Wait a minute, that makes me the rabbit. I'll go first."

The space at the bottom of the stairs was a warren of shelves and boxes, hardcopy remnants of ancient missions, organized in a fashion that had to make sense only to Orion. Names–Hydra, Cygnus, the Triangulum–that not even the Intersect could recognize. At the far end something made a light, so they went that way.

As they walked along the main aisle, Ellie said, "We've only got three days, Chuck."

"I couldn't even _index_ this place in three days. Let's hope Dad did that for us, otherwise this stuff'll rot before we read half of it."

The light came from inside a table, with some things on it that they couldn't see very well until they got close. Chuck picked up some metal fragments, while Ellie checked the label on a box of papers.

"Chuck!" said Ellie, shifting the box and pointing at the label.

"Ellie!" said Chuck, holding out a stamped metal figure of a boy.

"It's Mom!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** I hate endings like the one S3 had, that pull us so blatantly into the next adventure, but mainly I had the idea for the ending of my first season long before I wrote it, and I had no plans to continue the story at the time. So the previous chapter was actually a revision of the end of S3, this chapter is the real beginning of S4. Carina will take Morgan's place pretty completely from here on out, he's a restaurant manager and a good one, living his own life. One early consequence of this change is the sexting photo that Morgan took of Chuck now becomes the one that Carina took of Sarah, which Sarah sends to Chuck. This is an important step for Sarah, and a hint as to the true focus of this season. Chuck has moved past the false Charles Carmichael phase, and settled into a better place, now it's Sarah's turn to take a few steps away from the shadowy spy world into the light, and become a real girl. Sending Chuck that picture was the first step in that, or at least the place where I first thought of it.

It's also a sign of things to come that I was able to fit an entire chapter from another episode into this one. So much precious airtime wasted on useless or unnecessary material.

* * *

Ellie pointed at the little stylized boy figure in Chuck's hand. "Didn't we fix that?"

"We were kids, El, I'm surprised I didn't hot-glue it to my nose." He ran a finger over the little stump of a hand, no longer connected to anything. "I think Dad soldered it after we got done, but it got broken again."

"That's Dad," she said, taking it from him, "Always trying to patch things up."

Chuck noticed the box she'd been holding. "Mary Bartowski. Missing?" He opened the box, scanned the items inside but nothing jumped out at him. A lot of stuff that an agent going into deep cover would leave behind. "All this time we thought she left us…"

"She did leave us, Chuck." Ellie put a gentle hand over his. He'd loved his mother so much. "Perhaps this will tell us why she didn't come back."

He looked around at all the racks and boxes. "All of this…"

Ellie sighed. "Eventually," she said, taking the box firmly, tucking the medallion pieces inside. "Food first, and a room." The livability of the house would have to wait.

"Check in so we can check in?" Beckman would want a sitrep ASAP.

Ellie imagined a big pit where her childhood home used to be. "We have to tell her something."

"I…don't think the truth will go over too well, sis."

"We don't know what the truth is, Chuck. Anything could be in these boxes."

His smile grew more genuine. "That's true, isn't it? Anything. Or nothing."

* * *

"Good morning, sweetie. I hope your yesterday was better than mine." Sarah yawned into the phone.

Chuck winced, sitting in the car outside the diner. Ellie was inside, ordering dinner, but they agreed his conversation with his wife was not for public consumption. "Oh, crap, I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry."

An understandable mistake. "Don't be silly, Chuck, it's not like we've ever had a planet between us before."

"It just felt like it sometimes."

"Yeah, it did," she recalled in not-so-fond memory. "But really, we just got home from here, so getting readjusted was a snap. What's up? You have the ticker going?"

Chuck pushed a button on the little box on the dash, and the ticker started, pulsing randomly. Spies could use lasers to read vibrations from window glass, but the ticker threw off the vibrations. He told her every detail. No secrets, no lies. "I can only imagine how Beckman will take it."

A short, unhappy laugh barked into his ear from a world away. "So can I, and believe me, 'take' is a well-chosen word."

"I know, but don't worry, I have a plan."

"Oo, I like your plans," she said, then put on her Mrs. Charles voice. "And what do y'all want me to do, Charlie baby?"

Chuck smiled. She knew him so well.

* * *

Ellie called while on line. "I need your help, Aunt Diane."

Beckman was prepared to offer anything up to and including a general mobilization. "In what way, Ellie? Where are you?"

"On line at a diner. The house is a mess, completely unlivable. Dad really let it go these last years. His 'mission' all this time has been to find our mother." Three people within earshot winced at this additional frisson of torture to what was obviously a trying time, but one guy just wished she'd shut the hell up and keep the melodrama to herself. "Now that he's gone I'm afraid Chuck will–"

"Resign his position, abandon his country, and go off on some hare-brained scheme to find her himself?"

"You know my brother so well." The three people still listening nodded sympathetically. Typical loser brother, always having to prove himself. The guy in front started shouting his order at the clerk, to drown out the soap opera.

"Ellie, do the words 'stay in the car, Chuck' mean anything to you?"

"No."

"They didn't to him either. Don't worry, I'll come up with something in time for your formal check-in. We'll keep him in line."

"Actually, Aunt Diane, I had an idea already." Her audience smiled in approval. This Chuck guy didn't deserve such a good sister.

"I'm going to guess it's not one you can describe in detail, standing in the middle of a Denny's, or wherever you are." No one heard Beckman's sigh except Ellie. "Well, if it keeps him happy and out of harm's way I guess I can support it, and you."

"Thanks, Aunt Diane. I have to go, I'm at the counter now." She wasn't, but her listeners were more than willing to forgive a little white lie. "We'll speak to you soon."

* * *

The motel room had little more than two beds and a desk, but they didn't need more than that. Chuck set up the ticker by the window, while Ellie made the call.

"A secret basement?"

"Yes, General," answered Chuck. "Seems to have been mainly used for storage, though. The equipment we saw was pretty ancient. A lot of boxes on shelves. None of the labels we saw rang any bells, though."

"Nonetheless we should have them brought in for analysis…"

"Already taken care of, General." Assuming Sarah had spoken to Hannah like she said she would, and Chuck made that assumption. "Pending your approval, we've made arrangements with the Castle team to send a crew out and digitize the papers." The ones they were given, anyway.

"I appreciate your initiative, Mr. Bartowski, but the material in those boxes will almost certainly be above their pay grade–"

"But not mine, General," said Ellie. "I'll make sure they only see what they should see."

"You're staying, Ellie? I was hoping we could get together this weekend."

"Yes. As head researcher of the Project I believe it's my top priority to catalog these notes. Manoosh can handle the routine encoding tasks for the uploads, and he's been tinkering on a little side project he thinks I don't know about, for which my brother's mission will be a perfect proving ground."

"My mission?" said Chuck.

"Proving ground?" asked Beckman.

"Correct. We all know that only a bunker at the bottom of the sea could keep Chuck from looking for our mother." Beckman's grunt was perfectly timed with Chuck's shrug. "My idea is to use that to test Manoosh's enhancements to the sunglasses. Wherever Chuck goes he can stop in at a CIA substation or embassy, put on the glasses, get an upload, make his reports, and then do a download again. He looks for Mom, you get your data, and Manoosh gets his field trials. Everybody wins."

"I'm afraid not, Ellie. I can't agree with your plan."

"But…why not?"

"Because Mary Bartowski was a spy. You'll know it as soon as you read your father's notes so I may as well tell you now. You'll understand I can't let Chuck just wander the world looking for her, with no more back-up than Morgan Grimes." Because of course Chuck would ask, and Morgan would be there for him.

"Then call Sarah back, let them look together."

"I can't. She's the only one that gives the team even a shred of legitimacy."

"What about Casey?"

Beckman considered this. At least that's what they hoped she was doing in the time it took her to reply. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Chuck stood in the airport concourse, waiting for Casey to come out. This was going to become a home away from home, he supposed, but hopefully not too long. Ellie, too, since she wouldn't want to be away from Devon any longer than she had to.

The stream of debarking passengers thinned to a trickle, and still no Casey. _I couldn't have missed him._

"Hey, Chuckles," said a female voice, right into his ear.

"Ah!" Chuck shouted, jumping. The Intersect supplied a number of attack patterns but he suppressed them, and simply turned. "Carina! Where'd you come from?"

She laughed at his surprise. "The same plane you were just watching, you even looked right at me but didn't notice me." She tugged him away from the crowds. "That's no good, Mr. Not-a-spy. This is why Beckman wants me to have your back."

He checked six for listeners, but whispered anyway. " _Casey_ is supposed to have my back."

She checked three, nine, and twelve. "Casey is certifiably insane, I'll have you know. The trail led into Russia, and he actually wants to go there."

"Do you even know where I'm going?"

"Do I care? As long as it's not Russia. They have two seasons there, winter and almost-winter, and I left all my furs in storage." She shuddered. "Come on, the sooner we collect my luggage and get to your place the sooner you can brief me."

"Why my place?"

"Duh! My place is for debriefings only, even if you _are_ a boxers man."

* * *

"So your father's a geek and your mother's a spy. Why does that arrangement sound so familiar?" said Carina as she read her fashion magazine on the other side of the lounge.

Chuck didn't look up from his crossword puzzle, or bother correcting her choice of word. "Gosh, you're funny, Carina."

"I'm glad you think so, Chuck, we've got a long trip ahead of us. Your father's itinerary looks like a ping-pong ball in a hurricane. Can't we just cut to the chase?"

"Oh yeah, did I mention Beckman wants us to follow his trail, verify his findings, and see what wreckage he left behind?"

"Wait. She wants me to _defuse_ international incidents?"

He snorted. "That's what _I_ said…" His pocket buzzed.

Carina watched as he pulled the phone from his pocket and checked the screen. Watched as he jerked in his chair, clutched the phone to his chest and turned bright red as she looked around nervously. "What's up, Chuckles?"

"Nothing," he said shrilly into his watch. "Just a…message from Sarah."

Carina smirked at a model wearing something she'd already stopped being seen in. "A message, Chuck? Are you sure it wasn't a photo of a certain tousle-haired blonde, eyes closed in restful slumber, with an expression composed of equal parts desire, pleasure, and satisfaction on her face?"

He sank lower in his chair and pulled the phone away to check the screen.

She caught the moment and sent it off in a quick email. "I take it from the smile on your face that I'm one hundred percent right as usual? I was wondering if she'd have the nerve to send it like I suggested, she's surprisingly shy in some ways."

He flashed a glare in her direction as he shoved the phone in his pocket.

"I took it, you know." She watched him squirm, unable to escape her voice in his ear. "She didn't used to make so much noise. I wanted to get video but dream-Chuck is a pretty fast worker."

"Stop it," he growled.

"That's exactly what she said. I took the picture and it woke her up. She made me email the photo to her and then she deleted it from my phone, the spoilsport." She sighed. "Ah well, at least she punished me for my transgression."

Chuck sat bolt upright in his chair. "She what? How?"

"As only Sarah Bartowski can," she murmured. Chuck practically melted in his chair. "Well, there's my boarding call. Have fun in coach, Chuck, see you on the ground."

 **First stop: Yucatan**

"What do you mean? Of course I remember those riots."

"Yes, well, so do they. Whatever you do, don't use the name Bartowski."

 **Third stop: Greenland**

"Ellie, what are we doing in Greenland?"

"I don't know, Chuck. What _are_ you doing in Greenland?" She sounded more than a little distracted.

"Freezing. Why is this place on Dad's list?"

"It's not." The sound of rustling papers. "Oh wait, it is. Sorry, I thought I'd scratched that out. Your next stop was supposed to be Portugal. My bad."

 **Fifth (?) stop: Tierra del Fuego**

"All right, what's here?"

"Um…fuego?"

 **Another stop: India**

"Watch your step, there's cows everywhere."

 **Another**

"Geez, it's cold!"

 **Another**

"God it's hot."

 **Another**

"Can it get any more humid?"

 **Somewhere, sometime**

"Wait, I can swear that's Russia off to the left. Are you sure we can't stop?"

 **Washington DC**

The grate fell off the vent and a long female body slid out and fell to its, that is, her knees, but she went no further. "Yuck. No way I'm kissing that floor."

Chuck landed lightly behind her. "You already kissed the gangway _and_ the airport parking lot. I think DC knows you're glad to be here."

She pushed away from the floor with vigor. "Yes, well, I just discovered _how_ glad, and it's really not that much." She looked around at the grimy office and its furnishings. "This is a safe house?"

"It was," said Chuck, his attention on the obvious safe set into the wall. "You have that combination?"

Behind another vent, a hidden camera caught most of the scene and relayed the images to a screen a great distance away. A woman watched with no expression, until she saw the long-haired woman shimmy her dress into alignment behind the man's back, displaying a complete lack of both modesty and underwear.

When shimmy-girl pulled the slip of paper out of her top and pressed it into his outstretched hand, the woman pursed her lips. As the man entered the code shimmy-girl blatantly checked him out from behind, secure in the belief that she was not being observed. The woman heard machinery grinding and went to find the source, before she realized it was herself, growling like some kind of animal.

When he sat, dejected by the open and empty safe, shimmy-girl sat by him, hugged him, her hands caressing and stroking. The woman snapped the monitor off. "Oh, Chuck."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** I made a serious blunder in this chapter, which no one ever called me on. If Chuck only has the Intersect in the lab or in controlled places like the embassies, how was he able to flash on the EMP device, or the menu? In the two months between the end of tyhe last season and the beginning of this one I'd forgotten that basic arrangement. I didn't even realize I'd done it until the next episode, and I had to figure out a reason for it, which ultimately turned out to a major contributor to the story, so I really can't even say I wish I hadn't done it. Just a happy accident.

The idea of the Gretas was a strange one, and I'm not sure why they did it. Surely the money they spent on such random guest stars could have been better spent, for instance on better writing and a story that made sense. I came up with the idea of making them over as the graduating class of Roan's Seduction School, where they eventually managed to be useful. I just wish I could remember how.

* * *

"What do I do now?" said Chuck. "This was our last hope."

Carina left off with the comforting gestures. They didn't seem to be working on him but she was getting pretty worked up herself. Be good to get back to her toyboy. "We stick to protocol, Chuck. You check the files, I'll check the trash." Hard to get excited over trash, or stay that way.

She kept her head down as the doors started slamming.

"Nothing! There's nothing here!"

She grabbed a flyer and held it up. Chuck liked Chinese, maybe he'd find this more comforting than her. "It's not a total loss, Chuck. We found a new Chinese place."

He looked over, glanced at the flyer, but he didn't recognize the emblem. "I'll have to ask Morgan," he said, unwilling to be cheered up so easily. "Let's get back, we need to contact Ellie and Beckman."

* * *

With the tragic death of Charles Carmichael, an obscure office became available. With the sudden miraculous recovery of analyst Bartowski, an office was needed for his use. Serendipity.

Not so serendipitous was the brunette bombshell walking down the hallway as he opened his office door. While the place wasn't a state secret anymore, the less anyone noticed his comings and goings, the better. He pretended to fumble for his keys, keeping his face turned away, and slightly hunched over to hide his true height.

"Mr. Bartowski?" she asked, in a rough, throaty voice.

Crap. Suddenly he found his keys. "Yes, Miss…?"

She stopped, very close. Chuck tried to back away but the door didn't move, stupid door."You can call me Greta, Mr. Bartowski. I've been assigned to your wife's team. They told me I should see you to get brought up to speed."

Who were 'they'? "That's…very nice, Miss-Greta, but I just got back from a little fact-finding tour of my own, so as you can imagine, I need some time to bring myself up to speed." The problem wasn't getting the key in the lock, not for the Intersect, the problem was making it look like he was having trouble.

She moved closer, staring, unblinking. No more problem.

"That's all right, Mr. Bartowski. Perhaps over dinner tonight?"

"D-dinner?"

She smiled at him. "I'm shipping out for Thailand in the morning. I _really_ need this briefing, as soon as you can give it to me."

"You don't have an older sister named Carina, do you?" This little girl had a bit of growing to do, to step into those shoes. Chuck smiled at her, not the one Sarah owned, but another one. "Sure, a little time with someone would be good. It gets kind of lonely when she's out on these long assignments, you know?"

"I sure do," said Greta. She touched his arm. "Thank you, Mr. Bartowski."

"Please, call me Chuck."

* * *

The lights were on in the Manoosh-cave, so someone had to be there other than him. Chuck stepped into the office Ellie now shared, to find his wife standing there. The door hit him in the back as he just stood there, but even so he wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming. "You're here?"

She wrapped herself around him and proved it with a kiss. "We just got in, and Beckman already wants us to go out again. This mission just won't _end_! I need to see you more than once a month."

He ran his hands over her back, inhaled the scent of her hair, savoring every shred of the experience of her that he could get. "Me too. I have your picture but it's not the same."

She didn't ask about his mother. She didn't have to. "My picture?"

Reluctantly, he took a hand away from her body and pulled out his phone. There on the screen was her smiling, sleeping face.

She got out her phone. On the screen was a shot of him, sitting in an airport waiting room, staring at his own phone with a goofy grin on his face.

"Yeah," he said, turning red. _Thanks, Carina._ "Thanks for sending her, by the way."

"Not my idea, but there's only one thing harder than getting Carina into Russia."

"What?"

"Getting Casey out of it. You won't believe how disappointed he was when our mission suddenly diverted us to Hong Kong."

"What's in Hong Kong?"

Casey stalked out of the back room, pretty sure his partner was done playing patty-cake. "A big black hole, six kilometers across." He grabbed the back of Chuck's shirt, pulling him out of Sarah's arms and over to a table, forcing him to look into an open case. "Flash," he ordered, as if to a trained dog.

"Ah!" Chuck groaned, and Casey pulled him upright again, holding him steady as he wobbled. "Portable EMP generator, manufactured by Volkoff Industries in Venezuela, probably at their Corta Verona facility." He shuddered, and Casey let go. "Who's Volkoff?"

Sarah moved in, started adjusting his tie. "He's the next mission Beckman wants us to go out on."

"Russian arms dealer, billionaire," said Casey, closing the case behind him. "Recluse. The power behind the DSL, and with that one flash you just made it possible for us to bring him down."

"Um, you're welcome," said Chuck to Casey's back as he left the room again.

"He missed you too."

"I can see that." He could see nothing but her. "You know the broom closets down here have locks on them."

She trembled. "Don't tempt me." She pushed away. "I have to go report to the General, before we head to Venezuela. Intel like this can't wait."

"Yeah. You go do your thing. I'll read your reports, let you know if I flash on anything." He fled the room before she did.

* * *

Fortunately Greta came to get him a little after six, otherwise Sarah would have had to punish him at some point in the near future for not taking proper care of her husband. "Mr. Bartowski," she said, tapping lightly on his door. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't find any places without open tables tonight. We can go to my place, if you want. I can cook, and it would be more private."

No way was Chuck going to make a woman cook for him on her last night home. "You deserve better than that," he said. "I have a friend, my best bud, he's a manager at a restaurant near here. Let me just give him a call…" He reached for his phone, not noticing the look of disappointment that flashed across her face.

"Sure thing, Mister…Chuck. It's good to have friends."

Morgan, of course, came through for him, getting them a good, reasonably private table at his place. Chuck noted the placement of the security cameras and pulled out a chair for her that had her sitting with her back to them.

None of which precautions did anything to prevent the man with the microphone from capturing every word he said. Fortunately he didn't say much, there just wasn't a lot on this guy Volkoff in the Intersect and he hadn't had much time to do more mundane forms of research. To compensate for his lack of knowledge he tried to do his best to set the poor girl's mind at ease about the team she was joining. His wife was a bit of a legend in the Agency, so he tried to present her more human side.

* * *

The woman was working when her computer buzzed at her. She'd put a flag on their surveillance systems, and the target had appeared in one, and the system sent her an alert. She put her work to one side and opened up a window with the live feed.

The man was the same man as last night, but the woman was different. Shorter, stockier, short black hair. The man's face was plainly visible, but she doubted any lip reader ever born could understand what he was saying. He appeared to be talking a mile a minute, his face very mobile and animated. Whatever he was talking about really excited him, and judging from the way the girl kept touching him, her too.

"Oh, Chuck." The woman closed the window. Let the system record their interlude, she'd review the video…some other time.

* * *

Morgan Grimes walked through his restaurant, making sure everyone was happy, greeting the regulars like the friends they were. When he reached the table of his oldest friend, sitting with some hottie, his voice got somewhat cooler. "Hey, Chuck, how are you this evening?"

"Morgan! This is Greta. Greta, this is Morgan, the friend who got us this table."

Greta mustered a smile and they exchanged greetings but Morgan clearly had other things on his mind. "Chuck, can I talk to you a second?"

If this had been a date Chuck would have been flustered, but since Greta was simply an associate, he took the interruption in good stride. "Sure thing, buddy." To Greta he said, "Don't wait for me. I told you, that stuff's best when it's hot. I'll be right back."

Morgan led Chuck to a quiet spot by the bathrooms. "Alright, Chuck, what the hell's going on? You're gone for months at a time, I had to find new teams to join on three of my favorite games 'cause you haven't logged on for, like, _ever_ , and now here you are with some babe!"

"What, Greta? She's on the team." Really, he probably shouldn't have said that, but this was Morgan. "I'm sorry about the rest, but…some information came to light about my mother, but it's beyond classified. We've been looking for her."

"You and Carina?"

"How'd you know?"

"She came by the house this morning, barely polite, mentioned something about you needing cheering up, and threw this flyer for some Chinese place in my face!"

Chuck winced. "Sorry about that. She's in a bit of a dry spell, I think she's experimenting with faithfulness, and we were gone a month."

Morgan shook his head. "I hope she's still with that cop. She might break anybody else." He slapped Chuck on the arm, much happier. "I'm glad to see you, buddy, and I hope you're alright. We need to get together sometime, but not that Chinese place. I didn't even recognize half of the dishes on the menu. Have you ever heard of Shimira Chicken,' cause I haven't."

Chuck flashed.

Morgan knew about the Intersect, but had never seen a flash in person. "Hey, Chuck, are you okay? You having a seizure? You want I should call Ellie?" He pulled out his phone.

"No, no!" said Chuck, grabbing his arm. "It was just one of those things I'm not allowed to talk about, remember?"

"Oh, is that what that was? I thought you'd bitten a hot pepper, or something, which was impossible, 'cause you didn't order any–"

"Morgan!"

The bearded man shut up and looked attentive.

"I need that menu. Where is it?"

Morgan started patting his pockets. "No, wait, it's in my case!" He pointed to his office.

Chuck sagged in relief. "Great. Go get it, and meet me at the table."

Morgan turned and ran, making his subordinates wonder if the tall guy was a food inspector, or worse, the owner's relative.

Chuck went back to his table. Greta smiled when she saw him, but that didn't last long. "I'm sorry, I have to go." Chuck got out his wallet as Morgan came back, puffing slightly. Greta slumped, disappointed. No one noticed.

Morgan handed him the folded up paper and some containers. "Put that away, it's on me." He swept the food into the boxes as Chuck carefully put the menu away without looking at it. The last thing he needed was to flash in the middle of the main room.

Morgan escorted Chuck to the front door, holding his food as he put on his coat. After Chuck left, Morgan turned to check up on Miss Hottie, only to find a man old enough to be her grandfather had already moved into Chuck's place, and she wasn't blowing him off. "That didn't take long."

* * *

"Well, 'Greta', what did you learn?" said the older man, swirling his martini. "You were my star pupil, you know."

The implication that she no longer was stung. "What was I supposed to learn? The only thing I didn't do was sit in his lap, but he wouldn't stop talking about Agent Walker. I never had a chance." She stabbed a fork into her entrée and started slicing.

He got out his notepad and made an entry. "Excellent."

"What do you mean, 'excellent'? I blew it."

Roan Montgomery put his pad away and finished his drink. "Sometimes that happens, my dear, even to star pupils," he said, standing. "Don't get up, it would be a shame to waste such a meal. I'll see you at the debrief." He ambled to the doorway, deep in thought. _Excellent work, Charles._ He smiled. _Let's see how long you last._

* * *

When Chuck pounded on the door, a man answered. "I need to see Carina."

"Wait right here," said Officer Davis, getting his keys. "I'll go get her."

"No need," said Carina, coming into the room in an oversized shirt and nothing else. "What do you want, Chuck? You're interrupting our seventh-inning stretch."

"The menu!" said Chuck, brandishing the paper. "The menu is the clue."

Carina dropped her head into her hands. She raised it again. "Fine." She turned to Davis. "Save my place." Back to the bedroom for her clothes.

"Carina," said Davis, following. "You really don't have to–"

"I know I don't _have to_. If I did, I wouldn't. I'm doing it because I want to."She closed the door.

That's when Chuck noticed that Davis was mostly undressed, and armed. "Sorry.'

"Don't be," said Davis, putting the gun down. "I knew the risks. Can I get you a beer?"

A half-naked man was offering him one of Carina's beers, in her apartment. "Uh…no, thanks."

"Suit yourself." He went to get one for himself.

Carina came out, ready to go. "Come on, Chuck, let's get this show on the road. The sooner we go, the sooner I can get on my back."

Davis sprayed beer. "Carina!"

She was gathering her hair. "What?"

Both men shook their heads, but there was nothing to say.

"You mind if we take your car?" said Chuck, in the elevator. "I want to look at this menu."

"Sure," she said. "It's got a back seat you can lie down in. You know, if you need to."

Of course it did. "You wouldn't happen to have a younger sister named Greta, would you?"

"Greta?" Carina smiled. "Oh yeah, it _is_ that time of year, isn't it?" she said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

"Huh?" asked Chuck, risking a glance at the symbol on the front page. "What?"

She didn't look back. "Nothing."

* * *

"Anything jump out at you?"

"Yeah," said Chuck, rubbing his eyes. "Too many. This thing is a shopping list for classified weapon systems."

"Why would your mother have that? Is it what she was working on?"

Chuck pulled out his phone, started dialing. "You'll know when I know."

"Chuck, don't–!"

"Who is this?" demanded a distorted voice from the speaker. "Identify."

"This is Mr. Charles," said Chuck with his Southern accent. "I speak for the Ring."

"The Ring was eliminated."

"I see I'm gonna have to rethink our relationship, if you're gonna believe such an obvious piece of malarkey as that. Goodbye."

"Wait, Mr. Charles, do not hang up. Clearly we have been misinformed. The person responsible will be shot before sunrise."

Oh, God. "Shot?" He didn't just get someone killed, did he?

"Sorry, I mean 'fired'. Please excuse my poor English."

"That's all right, friend, nothing to kill over. It's true we have suffered a few setbacks, lost a few properties, but our pockets are deep and we need to resupply. What say you?"

"I say you will come to Moscow immediately."

 _Moscow?_ That wasn't just distortion, that was a Russian accent. Chuck looked at Carina. "Immediately? Why's that?"

"Mr. Volkoff wants to deal with you," said the voice. "Personally."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** The main reason I started doing this second season of nine2five was to make sense of the actions of Frost. With S4 divided into 4 separate p[lotlines, two of which were created after the other two ended, some glitches were to be expected, but the writers in this season really lacked any ability to see how the gimmicks they created for a particular episode (and they had some good gimmicks) would affect the season as a whole. They were episodic thinkers in a serial world, and it showed. I was able to fix most of these glitches because I know the whole story, so I could find a place for the good stuff and explain why the bad stuff couldn't be (more properly, shouldn't have been) done. A full list of these problems would probably make a whole chapter by itself.

Which isn't to say I couldn't sometimes get myself into trouble, but that could be useful, depending on how I got myself out of it again.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this," said Carina to no one.

"You stole that diamond and left your best friend under fire," said Chuck, typing away at his laptop.

She shrugged. _Sarah could handle it. She can handle anything._

"You married an arms dealer to get access to his vault," he continued.

 _Not like I'm ever going to get married for real._

"But a simple midnight flight to Moscow makes you squeamish?"

"It's not the flight that bothers me," she replied. "It's the company. You shouldn't be here."

"I had to be here. It was my phone and my voice. If we're going to learn anything about my mother's connection to Volkoff Industries it has to be me asking the questions."

"I heard you the first time. Why do you think I let you come along?"

"Apparently for the conversation. I'm trying to work here." He tapped some more. "Not to mention that it's _my_ mission," he muttered under his breath.

"On what?" she asked, ignoring the last comment. If she got lucky, his answer just might put her to sleep for the rest of the flight.

"This is Russia, not the Ring. I can't count on their computer equipment being all that modern, so my worms and decrypters have to be much more versatile." He got out his phone and plugged in the cable.

"We're almost on the ground. Did Sarah call back?"

"How should I know?"

 _By being you_. "You can't work your magic on the plane's electronics and see if she replied? She has to be on the ground by now."

"Got better things to do with my phone right now, Red." He started uploading the code.

* * *

Sarah was on the ground, and cold.

So was Casey, but he was a bigger man, with a lot more clothing on. Given her position, sitting on a crappy chair, her wrists tied to the arms, she figured that Casey was probably in the same situation. Given that the only warm place on her body was her back, she figured he was sitting behind her, a standard technique to prevent them reassuring each other.

There, to her right, was a table, with their stuff on it, and an armed guard beyond that, muttering into his radio now that they'd moved. Somebody would be coming soon. No knives, no gun, no phone. She didn't know how they were going to get out of this one.

Something shifted at her back, Casey testing his bonds. "Don't know how we're gonna get out of this one," muttered Casey. "Cold and broken-down, has to be Russia. No one's gonna look for us here."

The door opened.

* * *

The limo ride was smooth and comfortable. The endless tapping was driving her crazy. That, and the uncertainty. "Any messages?" she asked, when he got out his phone again.

Chuck tapped the screen. "No messages, voice, text, or otherwise."

"That's not right," said Carina with some concern in her voice. "There should have been enough time between her landing and our takeoff to get in touch. I really don't want to step on her toes."

The limo pulled up outside and the doorman was heading for them. "It's my mission," said Chuck. "I'll take the heat. But here, if it'll make you happy…" He started typing rapidly.

When men started doing things to make her happy that she hadn't specifically told them to do, it usually didn't make her happy. "What are you doing?"

"Sending a text."

* * *

Sarah's phone chimed, only moments after Volkoff's man had delivered his threat and left them to stew, a classic interrogation technique. He'd focused more on Casey than her, even though she'd been the one to knock him out in Hong Kong. Next time she'd probably be the target, and he'd deliver more than mere threats. Any opportunity to escape had to be seized. She turned her head toward the table, slipping off her shoes.

The guard went to check, popping open apps at random. He found several photos, each of Sarah, each steamier than the last, a collection of unsent mail for her husband. He strolled around in front of her, leering back and forth from the siren on screen to the live agent in her chair. Then he stumbled upon something else, the message that had actually caused the chime.

 _VI/lap. Me + C 2 rusMsia._

Sarah watched the man's face screw up in confused concentration, his attention momentarily arrested, his eyes not on her. She kicked him and he fell, dropping the phone on the floor.

Casey looked over his shoulder at the lump. "Good job, Bartowski. Can you get the phone, get some backup?"

She could get to it but not pick it up, not with hose covering her feet. She'd have to type with her toes. Not what she usually did with her feet but an agent is nothing if not adaptable.

* * *

Carina looked away from the locked door of the server room they'd fetched up in. Orion's codes were still good, but other people could know them, and she hated surprises. Like Chuck saying, 'Let's just run, really fast.' Didn't he know how annoying it was to not be let in on the plan? "Chuck, your phone is ringing."

The servers weren't modern. He didn't look up. "Kind of busy here, Carina. It's your message anyway."

Carina took that as some kind of permission and went to Chuck's coat. The only thing in the inside pocket was the phone (rats!), but there was more than enough on the phone itself to make her inner gossip girl happy for a year. _Oh my, Sarah!_ _I have–I have–Goddammit!_ She finally had a good piece of one-upmanship come her way and she couldn't remember the line! 'Her grasshopper was ready to fly', or something like that, but grasshoppers don't fly, do they?

* * *

"Enough with the toes." Marco picked her lifeline up and looked at the screen, checking her messages sent and received. He liked pretty girls as much as the next man but pretty girls sending coded messages in his boss' factory he didn't like so much. He pulled his gun, a big semiautomatic that looked small in his hands, and pointed it at her. "I would love to put bullets in both your heads."

Marco wasn't pointing a weapon at him, so he had to be pointing it at Sarah. "Don't jabber, just do it," said Casey, drawing the big Russian's attention to himself.

Marco obliged him, stepping forward into his field of view and taking aim, smiling. Then he lowered his weapon, still smiling. "The problem is you aren't the agents I'm looking for."

"We can go about our business," thought Sarah, real hard. Marco kept talking. No bedbug mind powers for _her_. Then she focused on what he was actually saying. _CIA agents? Closer than anyone?_ What were _they_ , chopped liver?

"They're ghosts," said the Russian, pulling some photos from an envelope. "We only catch them at their embassies, brazenly entering like normal people, the last place anyone would look for a real spy." Sarah began to get a bad feeling. "They discovered our Greenland operation, forcing us to evacuate, and I didn't even know we _had_ a Greenland operation! Who are these master spies?" He flipped the photo over, watching their faces for any betraying reaction.

Sarah and Casey stared at the picture with complete bewilderment. 'What has Carina done with her hair?' thought Sarah. 'Sunglasses?' thought Casey, 'In Finland?'

* * *

She almost didn't notice the actual message. It made her eyes cross, and not in a good way. _Stood/VI/lap. SOS Me + C mosRcow VI SB4_.

"Um, Chuck, you got a minute?"

Chuck stood back and watched the monitor as the progress bar crawled across it. "Yeah. My program will decrypt my mother's file but it'll take a while."

"Good. I think this message is for you…"

* * *

"Sorry," said Sarah.

"Can't help you," added Casey.

Marco's radio crackled. "Boss, the Americans are in the building!" He smirked at his prisoners. "Well, it seems they are here to help you. Their first mistake. I will make it their last."

* * *

"Carina, this way!" Chuck ran for the stairwell, Carina hard on his heels. Down below they found a sea of pistols pointed at them, and backed away. They turned, to find a similar array clustered behind them. "Go ahead, Chuck," murmured Carina, gesturing at the crowd.

"What?" Chuck's voice went up a notch. "What do you mean, 'go ahead'? Aren't you the agent here?"

"Oh, suddenly it's _my_ mission now?" Carina lowered her hands, ignoring their captors to snarl at her partner. "After you drag me along with your whole 'don't worry, I have a plan' routine?" She flung her hands into the air. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this a second time."

Chuck gestured at the sea of scowls around them. "What, did you think they were just gonna let us waltz in and out like the wind?"

"Yes!" said Carina, nodding spasmodically. "I thought that was your whole damn plan!"

* * *

Marco let the whole argument play out. "Wow," he said, during an intermission. "I don't even need this radio." He held it out to Sarah. "Anything you want to say to your friends? I'll completely understand if you say no."

Sarah raised her voice. "Chuck, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be safe in DC."

"You're supposed to be in Venezuela," said the radio in Chuck's angry voice. "Looks like we were both wrong."

"Chuck, get out!" she yelled desperately. "Don't try to save us."

Marco pulled his hand back. "They couldn't anyway." Ignoring her pleas, he held the radio to his mouth and ordered his men to "Kill them."

The clatter of gunfire and screams of pain brought silence to the room.

Marco watched his prisoners' faces change, especially hers, and knew he had to act fast. If they ever got free he and all of his were dead men, even though they had both the numbers and the weapons. His mouth was saying something but he couldn't hear his own words, lost in the blue seas of rage that were her eyes. He clung to her partner's threat like a lifeline. "Somebody shoot this guy."

* * *

"You lied," said Carina.

"I did not," said Chuck, cut to the quick by her words. "I'll have you know I'm constitutionally incapable of lying. Sarah loves that about me."

"You said the fifty thousand on the right were _mine_!"

"They were!" Chuck raised his hand, three fingers up. "I just did a quick count and saw fifty thousand and one, and the one was about to cut you in half with a well-placed burst of automatic fire."

She blew a hair from in front of her face. "Okay, I forgive you."

"Thanks," he said, picking up a radio. "Hello?"

* * *

"Who is this?" It didn't sound like any of his men. It sounded like the guy from before, but that was imposs–

"You clearly have no idea who I am," came the man's calm voice. Marco could imagine the sneering smile that had to be spreading over the big man's face, even as he was tied to a chair and staring down a barrel. He didn't have to imagine the look spreading over this Sarah's face, not a better one from his point of view, just…different.

"If I were you I'd start running," said the big guy.

* * *

"Did I sound scary?" asked Chuck, his finger carefully off the transmit button.

"'What _I_ just did to your men'?" said Carina. "What am I, your cheering section?"

Chuck threw the radio away. "I meant to say 'we', it just came out 'I'. Come on."

* * *

Marco ran. To the base of the stairs, his crew in tow. He'd have to come through here to get to this level, and they'd be ready.

"I'm waiting, mystery man." He didn't like to wait.

* * *

Chuck didn't land silently, like a cat. Not in those shoes. But he did land on top of Marco's goon, so the silent part didn't matter so much.

Carina landed like a cat, silent and deadly, but since everyone was already talking about missions and mothers, no one noticed. _Typical._ "Hey John," she said, giving him the finger. "How about I _un_ tie you this time?"

"Sounds good," he said, glad to see she had her FRODO with her, as usual. "I've got me some Russians to kill."

* * *

The chairs were empty, the ropes cut, the gear gone. Nonetheless, Marco smiled. He went to a secure terminal, entered his code, and initiated a command sequence. The entire building was a trap, totally automated, with its security system activated. It would gun down anything that didn't have a special ID tag, like he and his men did. He had only one thing left to do. Walk slowly to the server room, the only unarmed room, listening for screams and gunfire along the way.

* * *

"We're sitting ducks in here," said Casey.

Sarah started slamming open doors, looking for any advantage the room could give them. "Look!" She pulled a familiar case from a storage closet.

"Sarah, don't!" yelled Chuck as he turned from his monitor.

"Chuck, they're on their way," she pointed out, holding the EMP device in her hand. "What good will that file do any of us if we're dead?"

Chuck nodded. "Nothing," he agreed. "But setting off an EMP device in the middle of the capital city of a nuclear nation isn't the answer." Unless it was to one of Volkoff's questions. Chuck turned back to his laptop. "Sorry, Mom," he said, cancelling the upload with minutes to go, minutes they didn't have. "That guy just told the Piranha that he and his friends were in an automated building."

An automated building with an automated suicide switch. It didn't suicide at his first hack but at his last. The lights went out as the building powered down, but they could see pretty well when the servers caught fire.

"Time to go," said Casey, leading the way with Comrade Carina on one side and Comrade AK-47 on the other.

Sarah was at his back, pulling Chuck away from everything he might ever know about his mother, more interested in protecting his future than his past. Chuck had made the mistake of looking at the fire, and was blind in the dark. Casey had to provide lots of muzzle-flashes to let him see his way, but the big guy didn't seem to mind that a bit.

"Where's the getaway car?" said Sarah when they made it outside, freezing already.

"There!" Chuck pointed.

She watched as a broken-down bus pulled up outside. "A bus?"

"No." The bus pulled away, revealing the limo waiting just where they'd told him to wait. Chuck rubbed his hands together, not in triumph but because he was cold. "I had to pay him a lot to drive us here, but I promised him double to drive us away."

"Taxpayer money, Bartowski," said Casey, trying to find a place to hide his weapon and not doing a good job of it.

Chuck took off his coat and threw it around Sarah's shoulders. "Cheaper than training your replacement, Colonel."

Casey's you-got-me-there grunt was barely audible.

* * *

"Ellie, you're back!"

"Yes," she said, stretching, "He almost broke it."

Two sets of hands flew to cover ears, while Casey turned right around. "TMI!" yelled Chuck.

"Tell me more," urged Carina, who could always stand to hear more.

Ellie obliged. "I'm pregnant."

One set of hands flew to cover ears as two others dropped in shock. "You're what?"

"Birds and bees, little brother, I know you know, since I had to tell you."

"You also taught him Hawaii was a state, and look how well that turned out."

"Sarah!" said Chuck, turning red. She'd milk that one for years. He gave his sister a gentle hug, not sure how hard to squeeze. "How long are you back for, sis?"

Ellie sat gratefully in her chair. "For good, Chuck. The boxes are scanned and repacked, the basement locked up tight. Everything important is digitized and safe. We left the equipment where it was, a lot of junk, if you ask me."

"I'll have to go out there soon and look it over."

"Whatever." Ellie didn't care at all. "Mom?"

"Tracked her to Russia, and her trail went cold. And in Russia, 'going cold' means something!" He shuddered.

"So she's dead?"

"We don't know," said Sarah. "This was all I could find in our deep databases." She passed over a sheet of paper, heavily blacked out. "Look at the bottom."

Ellie looked. "Captured?" She looked up. "She could still be alive?"

Chuck didn't want to lie to her, so he didn't say anything. Just nodded. Maybe. Ellie stood and pressed the paper against his chest. He raised a hand to hold it and she walked away. He gave Sarah a look that she returned in kind. His mission was over. So was hers. _Their_ mission had just begun.

* * *

She sat at the table, just one woman, surrounded by three tall men, poised to intimidate.

"You brought me here why?" She didn't sound intimidated.

"Someone is looking for you." He didn't sound threatening.

"Who?"

"A 'Mr. Charles.'"

If she recognized the name she didn't show it. She looked around, taking in the bare room and the dead hulk of a building it was in. Under. "Have you told Volkoff?"

"No."

She smiled. Of course not. No one would. Suddenly she stood, slamming the chair into the belly of the man behind her. She turned, drew his gun, and shot all three men in the room without turning completely around. She put on her coat and went to leave.

Marco still lived. "Please. I have…family."

She shrugged. "So do I."

"I had orders."

"You had _my_ orders, not to harm or interfere with this man in any way."

"Why?" he whispered.

She raised her pistol, not a cruel woman. Right before she fired, she said, "Nobody kills him but me."

* * *

 **A/N2** This last line was a case of me getting myself in trouble. It sounded like a good dramatic end line at the time, but one of my readers pointed out some flaws, which I then had to fix/explain/deal with.

For those who couldn't figure out the puzzle messages:

 _VI/lap. Me + C 2 rusMsia. = Volkoff Industries overlap. Carina and I went to Moscow in Russia._

 _Stood/VI/lap. SOS Me + C mosRcow VI SB4 = VI overlap understood. Need help Casey and I are in Moscow VI sub basement 4_


	5. Runway Bride

**A/N** When I realized I'd made a stupid mistake about Chuck flashing outside the lab, I could do one of two things, revise the story I'd written or retcon it in the next story.I don't revise, as a rule, and I get some of my best and most creative idea when trying to fix little issues like that, so I went the retcon route, and I think it worked out rather well, although that will take a while to bear fruit.

Similarly, last episode's closing line, 'No one kills him but me', was, as one commenter pointed out, a strange thing to say, if Frost was alone. This inspired me to explain why she would say that, which really took the season and the story off in a wholly unplanned direction.

* * *

"What do you mean, you were flashing?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, General," said Chuck calmly. "At some point in my–sorry, Carina, _our_ – mission, the Intersect glasses failed, and the download didn't take. I wasn't aware of it until that night in the restaurant. My immediate response was to take the menu to my partner."

"Who decided that taking you to Moscow was the safest course of action?"

Carina was used to taking heat for the things she did, but she wasn't about to take it for something she didn't do. "No, General, I was driving Chuck here to get him under cover until Manoosh could figure out what went wrong."

"Moscow is not on the way, Agent Miller."

"That's my fault, General," said Chuck. "I dialed the number on the menu while she was driving."

Diane Beckman noted the little shifts of posture on all her inset screens. "I trust I would not be the first to inform you of the stupidity of such a move." She got varying flavors of 'yes, ma'am' from everyone on her screen except Manoosh and Chuck himself. "You are not a spy, Mr. Bartowski. Intersect skills and good luck are no substitute. This will not happen again."

"No, ma'am."

"I am willing to overlook the incident for three reasons. First, you had a member of the team with you at all times, as per protocol. Second, you actually pulled it off. Congratulations. I'm glad to see those C-and-C lessons are having a good effect, although it's not what I would have chosen as a graduation exercise."

"I pulled off, sorry Carina, _we_ pulled off the rescue, General, but we failed to retrieve my mother's file."

"Chuck–" said Sarah, in the tone of someone who's said the same thing very often.

Beckman lifted a finger, and Sarah stopped talking. "The mission failed, Mr. Bartowski, you did not. You chose to save your team from an indefensible position, sacrificing a goal of great personal importance to do so. The most hardened agent would have trouble aborting a mission so close to completion. I hope your team appreciates that sacrifice, from someone who is not an agent." She scanned her insets, and got varying flavors of 'yes, ma'am' from everyone on her screen except Manoosh and Chuck himself. "As for the file in question, I'm sure your wife has pointed out to you that, since the building was a trap, the odds are very good that the file was a trap as well?"

"Yes, General."

"You should listen to your wife, Chuck."

Sarah ducked her head to hide her unprofessional reaction as her husband said "Yes, General."

"Good. Now, about the glasses. Manoosh, have you had a chance to examine them?"

"Yes, General. I assumed that the failure took place at the last point of contact. We tested the up- and downloads from those glasses in the lab with no negative effects and no failures. We then tested with the glasses directly, also with no problems."

"There's nothing in the glasses to account for the failure, General," said Ellie. The glasses were, after all, Manoosh's pet project. "We're concerned that this may be a failure in deployment."

"Meaning…?"

"Chuck and Carina spent months searching for his mother," said Sarah. "He was unaware of her Volkoff connection, but it drew their mission to Volkoff's attention."

"Marco had surveillance photos of Chuck outside some of our embassies. It's possible they spotted the glasses in transit and intercepted a pair," added Casey.

Manoosh nodded. "If they tried to copy the code, or decrypt it, the glasses would have gone into fail-safe mode, leaving just a stub program that did nothing."

"Yes, Mr. Depak, I remember those discussions now. Clearly we need to rethink the use of these glasses in long-term deployments, but in the short run they performed admirably. Thank you." She looked at all the windows. "Well, team, all in all, I have to say excellent work all around." Her hand twitched.

"Ah, General?" said Chuck hurriedly, aware of just how quickly she could kill the connection.

"Yes, Chuck?"

"What was the third reason you were willing to overlook the whole Moscow thing? You said there were three."

Casey grunted in disgust. When was Bartowski going to learn to let sleeping Generals lie?

Diane Beckman frowned at him, and smiled at Chuck. "You told me about it, of course." The screen went blank.

* * *

General Beckman stared at the blankness of her screen for a long time. He led, and they followed. They questioned, and he listened, and he made the call. _So close. So close._

* * *

"'I told her about it'? What was I supposed to do?"

Sarah shrugged. "Tell her about it, of course," she said, standing up. "Lie to your assets, sure, mislead your colleagues if you must, but never ever under any circumstances lie to your boss." The kitchen and breakfast awaited. "But you'd be amazed how creative some agents can be in the performance of their duties."

"More creative than Casey's footnotes?"

She sighed, putting on her apron. "They _are_ a study. Honestly, I think you got a pass simply because you didn't try anything." She brandished her spatula. "But like she said, don't do it again."

He crossed his heart. "Officially sanctioned missions only."

 _Like he'd ever have any._ "I can live with that."

* * *

The doors opened on Mozart, and closed on silence. "You summoned me, Alexei?" She was always careful with her choice of words.

"Frost," he rumbled, he growled, he hummed. It was any of those things, it was all of those things, a multidimensional voice that still fell short of expressing the man using it. "Explain to me the failure at the factory."

The woman called Frost paused, gathering her thoughts, and he waited, patiently. "We misunderstood their goals, developed our forces in the wrong places." Volkoff was a chess player, he would know what she meant. "What looked like a queen sacrifice turned out to be a trap, and Marco fell into it. Only the building's programming retrieved a stalemate."

"A _stalemate_!" roared Volkoff. He spun in his chair and leaned over his desk, his face inches from hers, but she didn't flinch. Not Frost. "They forced us to knock the board off the bloody table! That's no way to win."

"No, Alexei."

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked solicitously.

She didn't blink at the sudden shift in tone or topic. "No, I haven't. You?"

He sank back into his chair, grumbling. "I had a whole menu planned, Chicken Kiev, green beans almondine, some wine, the perfect meal for an international incident with a few dead agents on top but now…?" He raised a hand, let it fall. "What goes with failure?"

"I'll ask in the kitchen." She changed her voice, to sound upbeat. "It wasn't a total failure, Alexei. We have faces, and some names to go with them."

"Mister Charles," said Volkoff, rolling the words across his tongue as if tasting them and not liking it very much. "Bring me Marco."

"He's dead, Alexei, there were no survivors," said Frost, as if bringing a weather report. "He gave me the name just before he died."

"I know," said Volkoff, pressing a button on his computer. A recording played on the screen, a video with a woman and three men in a room. One man was Marco, the woman was Frost. They listened together as the interview played out, Marco's final "Why?" answered only by her bullet.

He turned in his chair. "Anything to say, Frost?"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, called up an app, hit play. She slid the phone to him on his desk as they listened to the same interview play, Marco's final "Why?" and her response, followed by a bullet.

"Only you, Frost?" he asked mildly. "Seems a mite…selfish, don't you think?" He pushed her phone back to her.

She picked it up and pocketed it. "He wants me, I want him back. I'm tempted to let him find me, just to see what happens."

"Absolutely not, you're far too important to me to risk losing you." He gestured at his computer, with the edited video. "Especially with traitors in my ranks."

"I understand." Whoever bugged her meeting with Marco didn't plan on her bugging it herself. Too bad. Whoever it was forgot the cardinal rule. You can cheat, steal, kill, but never lie to the boss. Tomorrow morning Moscow police would have a new unsolved murder on their hands. "I'll have the kitchens send up something cold."

Not as cold as his eyes. "Very appropriate."

* * *

"Good night, sis." The happiness in Chuck's face and voice was genuine but short-lived, fading faster the further they got from his sister's house. "Was that weird or what?"

"Very weird."

"I know, right. The size of a walnut and he's planning her college transcript!"

"Right, a walnut." She got into the car.

He ran around to the other side. "Or his, eventually, but right now it's a 'her'. Did you know that? All babies start out as girls and some morph into boys as they develop?"

"I…don't really think too much about babies, Chuck."

"Oh, believe me, I know. For a long time I couldn't even imagine getting a woman to talk to me, much less–"

"Chuck."

 _Um, uh…_ "And then I found you, a rare woman, smart and perceptive enough to see my true worth beneath this nebbishy façade." He paused for breath, flashed her a smile. "Better?"

She roused herself to smile at him. "A good save."

He turned the key. "I almost feel sorry, leaving her alone with him. He's a little gung-ho on the baby care, isn't he?"

She stared at her hands. "A little."

He pulled out into the street. "And here we got married at almost exactly the same time, it's no surprise he'd wonder about us."

She looked out the window. "No surprise at all."

She was upset. Talking about babies upset her and he should have noticed, should have shielded her from Devon's enthusiasm. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Chuck, can we just… _not_ talk about this right now?"

He stopped at the corner. "Sure, Sarah. Anything you want. It's just that I remember how long it took you just to unpack, the last thing in the world I want is to–"

She turned to look at him, frowning fiercely. "Why would you bring that up now?"

"Why would I bring what up?"

"You remember my unpacking? You said you understood."

His voice went up an octave. "I _do_ understand, and I don't care. I only care about you."

"You said it wasn't weird."

He started to sweat, glad he was driving. "It _isn't_ weird. You're a spy, you travel a lot, you need to be ready to go at a moment's notice, of course it's not weird! We both just spent the better part of half a year living out of a suitcase. If you're weird, I'm just as weird."

* * *

"It's totally weird, isn't it?" He really wasn't supposed to use this phone but this was an emergency.

"Well, not anymore, Chuck," said Morgan. The sound of a clicking pen carried clearly over the phone. "Listen to Doctor Morgan. She took a while doing it, but she unpacked. She made the leap. That's a good thing."

Ellie's voice came over the speaker. "Chuck, we're ready."

Chuck began to relax."That's great news."

"But obviously that's not your Achilles heel," continued Morgan.

Relaxation time over. "My what?" No answer. "Morgan, my what?" He checked his phone, saw no bars at all.

"Upload commencing."

* * *

"I'm packed and ready to go, General," said Carina. A mission in Milan, during Fashion Week? She'd go _naked!_ In fact, maybe she already had, but her memory was still spotty on that one.

"Your readiness for this mission doesn't surprise me in the slightest, Agent Miller," said Beckman impassively. "Need I remind you that you are going to Milan to investigate Miss Stefanova's career as an arms merchant for Volkoff Industries, not to steal a march on next year's look? If it weren't for Colonel Casey's lamentable history with high fashion I'd be keeping you here, safe from temptation. I'd almost rather send Chuck in your place."

"Yeah, Casey," Carina smiled at him. "I've heard of fashion victims before, but never fashion killers."

"That won't be necessary, ma'am," said Sarah, over Casey's melancholy grunt. _An officially sanctioned mission?_ She had to keep those away from Chuck at all costs, she'd given her word.

"I know it won't, Agent Bartowski," said the General, pinning her with a glare. "One of your jobs will be to keep her on the strait and narrow, as long as it isn't a runway. Good luck, team."

Carina ran from the room, back to her apartment to get some items to donate. Those poor models, condemned to only next year's trends.

"Yeah, good luck, Bartowski," said Casey, as soon as the screen was black. "You'll need it, having to make her keep it in her pants, while hubby dear is home, carefully studying all of Miss Maxim's photos for their national security implications."

"Hiyo!"

"Chuck!"

"What is that, a bikini? I thought it was a burqa…"

She glared at the insulated door. "Keep him out of trouble, Casey."

The big man shrugged. "Easy to do while he's in bunker-land. I just have to go and shoot Grimes. He's been in a relationship for five minutes and he's already a marriage counselor."

Morgan was giving Chuck marriage advice? Her mouth went dry, her hands twitched.

"Don't worry, Bartowski, I got your back, even here on the home front. Whatever Achilles Heel you have, I've got some Casey shoes for it." He smirked at her freak-out face. "How's that for fashion?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** I really liked the male Greta, but my revision of the Greta concept requires the character to be female. She's not modeled on any particular woman, but she's still tall and arrogant. The whole concept feels clumsy to me, money and airtime they could have spent better on more of the A plot, but fortunately after this it fits into my storyline better.

And of course Carina loose in Milan. Banter heaven.

* * *

Chuck was nowhere near Milan.

After all the events in Russia, Beckman decided that it would be best to keep his face from being seen by any of Volkoff's operatives, so he wasn't allowed in the van, or even the country. While his wife and her partner were flying across the Atlantic, he was doing a thorough, frame-by-frame, pixel-by-pixel examination of the surveillance photos taken of Miss Stefanova.

Unfortunately none of those pixels held the slightest clue as to her employer's plans. As a professional model, she wore a variety of swimwear, and the backgrounds were beaches from all over the world, at all times of day and year. It was a bust.

Beyond that, the dailies were also uninteresting, no references to Mr. Charles anywhere. A few littler items to be passed on. The Ring was big, the DSL could have been big, and Volkoff might yet become big, but for right now, all was quiet on the Western front.

Time for lunch. His Intersect duties done, it was time to put on his analyst hat, and get ready for the time when his team lead would need his input. Given the time difference, she wouldn't need him until mid-afternoon somewhere. Those high-end parties started fashionably late and ran fashionably later.

The screens showed an empty hall, his favorite kind. He stepped out of his office and made sure it was firmly closed and locked.

"Mr. Bartowski?"

His head dropped, hitting the door jamb. "Ow!" He raised his hand to rub at the spot, turning to see who had called him. He looked up. Female. And up some more. Very tall female. African-American. "You're a tall one, aren't you?"

"I can say the same about you," she said. "Thank God. I live in a world of tiny men." She stuck out a hand. "You can call me Greta."

"Another one?" said Chuck. "Is there a school, or something? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, and if it really is your name I completely apologize, but I just met another girl, woman, _lady_ named Greta, and I have to say neither of you fit the model I would normally associate with a name of Northern European origin."

"Yeah, she said I wouldn't get a word in edgewise. " Greta smiled, like she was out of practice. "I'm not here to chat you up in the hallway, Mr. Bartowski, I'm here to train."

Against the Intersect? "And they sent you to me? The closest I ever came to training was virtual boot camp in a video game."

She nodded. "That's why they sent me to you. You're the acknowledged expert in the building in Virtual Enhancement Techniques."

 _I am?_ "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"It is. I hope you won't mind taking a complete novice under your wing, teach me the right moves."

 _Oh God, a newbie._

She must have seen the hesitation on his face. "Please, Mr. Bartowski. Help me. You're my only hope."

How could he refuse Greta Organa? "Fine. Let me call my friend Morgan. We'll teach you the ways of Call of Duty, so you can come with us to Alderaan."

As they left together, she turned to him and asked, "Where?"

* * *

Carina sauntered down the stairs, fashionably late in a world where fashionable lateness was an art form. As expected, there was Sarah, practically screaming 'Undercover Agent' with her strapless Versace and an untouched flute of champagne. "Tonight a school night?" she murmured into her throat mike.

"Wouldn't want to cramp your style," replied Sarah. She made a languid gesture. "Oh, and by the way, that corner of the room could use a good sweep."

"Do I look like a maid?" Carina snagged a flute of her own. Maids don't do that.

Sarah turned away. "You look like a feather-duster."

"Can I help it if I'm ahead of the curve?" She took a sip, and did a twirl on the landing. Not too much of one, these folks hadn't earned the floor show. "These will be the 'in' thing soon."

"On ostriches."

"They're fake."

Sarah smiled. "'Cause that makes it better."

Carina was bored. "You spotted our mark yet?" If Sarah was going to ruin the evening with work they could at least get on with it.

Sarah sighed into her mike. "Not yet. I'm afraid we're going to have to mingle."

Carina started scanning the room from her place on the stairs. "You? Afraid?"

"I'll be seen with you."

"Don't worry, I'll try to deflect a little of the admiration your way. The least I can do."

"Feel free to not do the least you can do," said Sarah. At least with Carina as a distraction she might be able to get some work done. The sooner this mission was over the sooner she could get back to–

"I see her," said Carina.

"Where?"

"At your ten, fifteen yards, or meters, I guess, since we're in Europe. Slinky sequined dress, not off the rack but certainly not haut couture either."

Sarah shook her head, not bothering to say a word. "Any weapons or guards?"

"Well, there are a few people who haven't stopped and basked. None of them appear to be watching _her_ , though." She continued on down the stairs to grace Sarah with her presence. "Maybe they're gay."

Sarah clinked glasses with her. "It's Fashion Week, Carina. Everyone here has to have a pretty high tolerance for strutting divas."

Carina had, of course, kept her target in view. "She's not strutting."

"I wasn't talking about her." Sarah turned, and they ambled leisurely through the crowd, not directly at the target but on a course that would eventually intersect hers, if they made three or four circuits of the room.

Not that Carina was willing to wait that long. She had no problem with the seeing-and-being-seen aspect of this mission, but the mission part sucked all the joy out of it. "So what do you think?"

Sarah took a little closer look, and noticed the sequined clutch, almost invisible against the all-too-revealing sequined dress. "Bag."

Carina put her empty glass on a tray, and snagged another as several waiters made it their business to let her see them. "Yeah, she has seen better days."

"A- _hem_."

"Oh, you mean a real bag." Carina flashed a glance. "Yeah, looks big enough." She handed her glass to her partner. "Be right back."

Sarah settled in to watch. Either Carina would get what she went for, or she'd get shot down in flames. Either one was a win in her book.

* * *

An alert signal woke Frost from her nap. She never got a full night's sleep, and hadn't for years. Alexei's interests took up too much of her time, and her own interests took up more, so she'd long mastered the art of sleeping when she could and hitting the ground running. She checked the source of the alert, a gamer tag that hadn't been used in months, suddenly activated. Han-fan and Chewie-fan were back together again, and she smiled, feeling sorry for their–who was Greta123? Fortunately the CIA didn't bug agents' residences, that left the way clear for her to worm her way into the webcam on the computer. The two men looked less than happy, but the woman sitting between them was ecstatic. "Oh, Chuck."

She shut down the worm and went back to bed.

* * *

Carina strutted right up to her target, not bothering to hide her presence as she reached for a cheese cube with one hand and reached for the bag with the other.

Miss Stefanova suddenly turned, alert for strangers approaching from any angle in an environment like this. Her bag swung away and something else entirely found its way under Carina's questing fingers. "Excuse me!" said Sofia, shocked. "Who do you think you are?"

Carina moved her hand–the other one–and placed the cheese cube slowly in her mouth, on her tongue. She chewed it slowly, reveling in the pure oral satisfaction, as she considered her reply. "I'm the one woman in this room everyone will be watching this week. You?"

"Your hand is still touching my perfection."

Carina looked down. "Why yes, so it is." She looked into Sofia's eyes, saw no compromises there. "An accident. Happy accident?" That hard gaze said there were no happy accidents in Sofia's life. "No? Too bad." Carina pulled her hand back slowly, up and over Miss Stefanova's hip.

"I'm flattered," said Sofia, not sounding flattered. She looked away for a second. "But it seems you've already got one admirer, and if she's as plastic as your feathers, I'm sure you'll be much happier with her." She smirked and walked away to the bar.

Carina took another cube and sauntered back to Sarah.

"That went well," said Sarah, and she opened her mouth.

Carina placed the cube on her tongue. "The night is young."

* * *

Later, at the debrief.

"'Virtual Enhancement Techniques'?"

Greta restrained herself from shrugging, under her superior-and-instructor's eye. "The other Greta already used the dinner ploy. I had to engage other interests."

"Yes, and very quick thinking it was, too," said Agent Montgomery. "And how did it play out?"

Hard to tell if she blushed. "Not well, sir."

* * *

" _Telescope, give me a sitrep!"_

Sarah walked away from the party, the lobby, the whole damn building. "The target left an explosive surprise in her bag, Eagle-Eye. Microscope threw it into a fountain and it fizzled."

" _She made you?"_

"Or she really didn't like my hand on her 'perfection'." Carina rolled her eyes.

Must be something wrong with the signal. _"Her what?"_

"Nothing, Eagle-Eye," said Sarah. "We're heading upstairs."

* * *

Roan felt a headache coming on. Being called a 'noob' by a tiny man was the high point of Greta's report. And what kind of insult was 'noob', anyway? Not an ethnic slur. _Charles wouldn't associate with one of_ that _ilk._ "'Not well' is a bit of an understatement, isn't it? Did it ever occur to you to _lose_?"

She always tried to do her best, and to get better. "No, sir."

"Next time try to keep your competitive instincts in check, 'Greta'. Men are much more gracious in victory than they are in defeat." He barely noticed as she shuffled out of his office. Neither brunettes nor gamers had the desired effect on this subject. Valuable lessons learned, but at this rate he wasn't going to graduate anybody. _What is the key to you, Charles?_

* * *

Sarah and Carina waited behind the dresses filling the closet from side to side, listening as the great, ponderous, hulking footsteps of the burly bodyguard faded away into the main room. The man hadn't seen them, which was no surprise. Sofia Stefanova was an exception to the rule that spies always travelled light. It made Sarah's 'weird unpacking thing' seem doubly weird by comparison, and she was doubly glad Chuck wasn't here to notice it.

Why had it taken so long? Being a fashion model was Stefanova's cover, and these closets they stood in sold that cover very well. She'd been Chuck's cover girlfriend for years, and his wife after that, but the closet her things didn't occupy would have given her away immediately.

Miss Stefanova walked into her closet, bringing Sarah's thoughts firmly to the here-and-now. Neither of the two spies moved a muscle as Volkoff's agent stripped off her dress, folding it neatly into a case, followed by her underthings, not so neatly deposited into a laundry hamper on the way into the bath. When the water started, Carina stuck her head out and looked into the other room. "Translucent," she whispered. "Better than nothing." If the showering woman turned around she'd see something moving in her closet, even if she couldn't tell who.

"I'll get the guard," said Sarah.

Carina nodded, and went back to the safe with their electronic lockpick. As the numbers counted down she heard Sarah say something to the man outside in a thick Russian accent that sounded nothing like Stefanova's, but the guy apparently bought it. Was he deaf or something? The lockpick stopped, and the safe clicked open. Inside were the bullets they sought and Carina took them out, standing to put them into her secure pouch.

"Don't move," a woman with a thick Russian accent from behind her. Probably not Sarah. She raised her hands.

"Turn around. Look at me."

Carina turned and looked. "Not seeing much. There's more and better every day in my bathroom mirror, honey."

Something heavy fell down in the other room, and Stefanova grabbed Carina as better protection against bullets than the air she was currently wearing, as Sarah ran into the room.

"You're kidding, right?" asked Carina mildly. "You do know she'll shoot right through me to get you, don't you?" _Just as well Chuck isn't here. S_ he'd never do it then.

Sofia watched as Sarah's face hardened. Before she could shoot her red-haired prisoner, Sarah fired, and Carina moved in tandem, a true partner. Stefanova released her prisoner to save herself.

Sarah and Carina ran, rather than risk getting caught between Sofia with her guns, and the guard outside. They had what they needed. Sarah stood guard as Carina hooked the two of them up to their climbing ropes, in case Sofia aaand there she was. _Keep moving._ Sarah fired again, and Miss Stefanova gave her a clear view of her bottom as she dove for cover.

"You call that perfection?" asked Sarah. Then she and Carina leapt from the balcony and were gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** A short chapter this time, but critically important. In the last season I brought Chuck up to speed, now Sarah needs to start developing as well, making her way out of the spy world and into Chuck's arms as a real girl.

I know this now. At the time I had no idea what to write and the episode wasn't helping, so I trusted to banter and character interaction to pull me through an otherwise plotless interlude. Probably about this point I realized just how fragile this season actually was, and what I would have to do to fix it.

* * *

Sarah leaned her head against the window, staring at the clouds. Vast and shapeless, she used to hate clouds, especially when looking at them from above like this. Blocking her view of the world below, a world of lines and right angles, farms and streets and all the works of man laid out like a map or a puzzle. She was good at puzzles, and she found maps comforting.

She'd come to like clouds more, since she met Chuck. They had funny animal shapes in them, like his hair. Or they could. Unpredictable, they could be anything. Just like her.

Not tonight. Tonight they were barely visible, dark hills, the kind enemy agents liked to hide behind. Her hands were moving in her lap. _Round and round and round she goes…_

"Hey, partner," said Carina cheerfully, wobbling up the aisle even though the plane was quite steady. "Peso for your thoughts."

Like anyone could think with Carina around. She looked away from the window to frown at her friend. "A peso?"

"Seems to be about all they're worth." She fell into the neighboring chair. "I said to myself, Carina–"

"You talk to yourself in the third person?"

Carina snorted. "Like I'm going to let all of me go to waste on _you_ lot. Anyway, as I was saying before you rudely interrupted, I said 'Carina, your bestie over there looks ready to practice her parachuting without a parachute. Offering her one of these fine mojitos you just made'–what a lovely word, mo-hee-toe. Anyway… where was I?"

Sarah turned back to the window, not that Carina was one to take a hint. "Drunk off your ass at thirty thousand feet. You do know that those things are three times as potent at high altitude?"

Carina took three sips in one. "So I've heard. Your friend Hannah is just a font of useless airplane trivia."

 _Not so useless._ Sarah and Hannah had bonded over a bar in first class as Hannah was on her way to Paris to clean out her desk, just before the mission Sarah was on had gone sideways as usual. Hannah now ran the LA office with an iron fist, keeping the real agents in line and adhering to protocol. She could really use Hannah now, not a Carina being even more Carina than usual. "Did you take your pill?"

"Yes, Mother. And I'm only offering half a peso for those thoughts now."

She'd have given them away free if it meant she'd stop thinking them. Not that she knew what they were, exactly. They were lost in the clouds, waiting until just the right moment to strike. She kept a careful watch as her hands twisted in her lap. _Round and round and round they go…_ "Did you really mean what you said back there?"

"I don't suppose you could try to be just a _little_ more specific? There's a lot of back there back there, unless you're talking about _my_ perfection, in which case I've got just exactly enough back there." She settled even more perfectly into her seat, took another three sips.

"Did you really think I would shoot through you, just to bring down a bad guy?"

Carina shrugged. "Sure. I would have."

"You would?"

"Sure. Whatever it takes to get the job done. Not that we needed anything like that today. We were up against a pro, so we didn't have to." Pros knew when to cut their losses, when to kill their hostages and when to push them away. Amateur kidnappers are the worst. Suddenly Carina started to giggle.

Sarah could use a bit of humor in her life right now. "What's so funny?"

"I just figured out what you're so upset about," said Carina as she laughed. She waved her hand back and forth between them. "You and me. We came out of the closet together back in Milan!"

Sarah sighed. Not humor to anyone except Carina. "You got me."

"That's what _she_ said!" Carina shook with a sudden convulsion of laughter."Crap, now you made me spill my drink."She started brushing at the glop, making it worse.

"Probably for the best," stated Sarah, watching the reflection in the window. It wasn't pretty. "This way most of it stays outside you."

"Like I want to reek of mint and lime when we go report to the General."

"So change."

"Like I want to wear ostrich feathers when we go report to the General."

Sarah started bonking her head against the glass. "All your clothes have ostrich feathers on them?"

"It's the next big thing!"

Sarah sighed again. "There's a small laundry aft. You have to go past the bedroom, so you've probably never seen it. You'll just have to prance around in your underwear until your clothes are done."

"What makes you think–?"

No, of course she wasn't. Suddenly she was really, really tired of Carina's antics. "Then stay back there, then."

"Fine, jeez, I'm going, Miss pooty-porper," said Carina, getting up from her seat. "See if I try and cheer _you_ up ever again."

Sarah watched her go. "You promise?"

* * *

Morgan stopped by table seven. "Good evening, Colonel, Alex. What brings you around here?"

Casey cast his gaze around the restaurant. "Just taking my daughter out to dinner. Wanted to see what kind of a ship you ruin here, Grimes."

 _Another dating test._ "I trust the service has been satisfactory so far," he said at his most assistant-managerial. He wasn't going to snap his fingers and demand the best for them, every guest deserved and got the best at his restaurant, but just standing here a few extra moments wouldn't hurt anything.

Casey's "Can't complain" seemed at odds with Alex' "It's fine, Morgan", but only to people who didn't know Casey. "Your wait staff is certainly efficient," he continued. "You sure they're not all CIA plants on some kind of covert assignment?"

Morgan snapped his fingers. "Busted." Alex laughed, always a pleasure to hear. "Wait a minute. 'CIA plants'? Why CIA plants?"

Casey smirked. "Because obviously, numb-nuts, if they were _NSA_ plants they'd be the management." He looked Morgan up and down.

Morgan ran his hands over the lapels of his jacket nervously. "Well, I'd, uh, I'd better get going. Other guests to say hello to. Wouldn't want to give the wrong impression."

Alex smiled and nodded. She was out with her dad, seeing Morgan too was a bonus. "It's okay, Morgan, we'll talk later."

Her fond gaze made Morgan smile, but only as long as it took him to catch Casey's not-so-fond glower. "Yeah, 'Morgan'. What she said."

* * *

Sarah stood in the door of the little sleeping compartment. _She looks so different when she's asleep._ Like a girl, not an agent. She also looked cold, all scrunched up under a sheet. The alcohol in her system kept her warm for a while, but not now.

Sarah got her friend a blanket, watched as she spread out under it, no longer so cold. _That's better._

* * *

Morgan did another walk-through, as the evening got later and the guests started to dwindle. It all still looked perfect, though. If a busload of nuns from Peoria suddenly pulled up in his parking lot, he'd be ready for them. Not that he had a parking lot, but still… _Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Colonel John Casey._ Not that he knew what that meant, but he knew Casey didn't smoke a pipe. _Just can't admit I'm good at something, can you,_ dad _?_

As he made his rounds toward his office, he heard a noise, followed by an 'oops', followed by a 'here, let me get you a new one'.

"What was _that_ all about?" said someone male.

He turned back to the floor. One of the busboys was walking away, but he was more concerned with his guests, few enough at this hour. Most of them were looking at one of the other tables, so Morgan looked too. The woman was staring at the bread as if it had aliens in it, while the man stared at his soda. The straw still had the little bit of paper on the end, and Morgan knew he'd been drinking from it just a minute ago.

They signaled for their bill.

 _What the hell?_

* * *

Sarah's key didn't unlock the door.

Good. That meant Chuck was sticking to the new security protocols. Leaving the key in the knob, she pressed the button for the doorbell, but no bell sounded. Instead a panel popped open on the door, with a screen, showing a textbox and a virtual keypad. Words formed above the textbox.

 _Green eggs and ham._

She liked puzzles but this one was just too, too easy. She typed in 'Sam I am' and the door unlocked. Inside the door she pressed her hand against a decorative mirror, deactivating the tranq gas emitters that would have knocked everyone out if uzi-toting terrorists had somehow forced her to open the door. A thermal grid showed only two heat sources in the house, one large one in the bedroom and one small one…in the kitchen? She put her bag down, reached behind her for her gun.

The house wasn't completely dark, of course, light from the street came in, carefully shifted three inches over by the refracting glass in the windows. She edged around the furniture, around the counter, and–oh.

Not a terrorist. Her husband had bought a new little crockpot, and put some dinner in it for her. She lifted the lid and sniffed. She took the handy-dandy spoon and sampled. Ham, potato, cream sauce, onion. Wonderful.

Breakfast.

Right now she knew what she needed and dinner was not it. She replaced the lid and turned off the pot, then went straight to her bed and the most wonderful man in the world. As she slid in next to him, his arm went around her and his fingers tapped the familiar pattern.

 _Green_ , she tapped back. Just like the eggs, or was it the eggs and the ham that were green, she could never remember. Comfortable against her husband's warmth she had a fleeting thought about her suitcase, still sitting by the door, unfinished business.

 _Finish it tomorrow._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** I don't think I had yet gotten into the habit of correcting all the long-distance issues they had this season, I was more aware of those things starting with the next episode. The show just seemed to think of them as a mere transition, and suffered for it. This time I was able to fix it easily enough, but there were times when corrected flight-times affected the pacing of the entire episode.

Getting back to the plot now...

* * *

"Sarah, wake up."

Sarah's eyes opened and she gasped. Chuck held her as she looked around wildly. _No, not wildly_. She was seeking targets. The morning light illuminated their bedroom, carefully arranged to minimize the number of possible hiding places for enemy commandos, and she sagged against him as she verified their safety. "Bad dream?" he asked gently, as if he didn't already know the answer.

The label steadied her. She nodded.

"A memory?" She had far too many of those.

She couldn't shake her head, not in that position. "Nuh-uh."

"Tell me about it?" He'd held her through many bad nights in their time together, but he usually didn't have to call her out of them. A simple hug, or speaking her name, was enough most times. He couldn't imagine what she could dream up that would be worse than the horrors she'd already gone through.

She hugged him tightly, but didn't say a word.

"Sarah." What would Dr. Dreyfus say? Something slow, steady, and calming, sure, but Chuck didn't feel any of those things right now, and less so with every second of her silence. "Sarah?" _Lub-dub-lub-dublubdublubdub–_

"We had children."

 _Lubdublubdub-lub-dub-lub-dub–_ "Doesn't sound like a nightmare to me."

"I ended up taking a water pistol to a firefight."

Chuck's brain froze. "Oh."

She pushed herself up and stared at him. "That's all you've got to say? 'Oh'?"

He forced a smile on his face. "I…remember I was threatened by a man with a water pistol once."

She sagged, but not all the way back down. "Chuck–"

"You remember him, that wacko genius Laszlo, tried to blow up the Santa Monica pier with a nerd herder?"  
She took a deep breath, letting her forehead settle down against his. "What about him, Chuck?" she asked, not up for this particular puzzle right now.

"I'm just saying that Laszlo, crazy psychopathic genius parts notwithstanding, was a pretty outside-the-box thinker. Sometimes a water pistol _is_ the right answer. Although for the life of me I can't figure out why he put water in it."

She snorted, a puff of air against his skin. "So what's the question?"

"That, little–"

She gripped his hair and pulled him to a stop. "You better not call me a grasshopper."

His brown eyes stared into her blue ones, not quite wincing. "There's nothing else that goes with 'little' that isn't derogatory."

She let go. "That's because 'little' is derogatory all by itself."

"Not if whatever you're talking about's _supposed_ to be little."

"If it's supposed to be little, then it's just right, isn't it?"

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"Well look, this isn't an argument."

"Yes, it–wait, what?" She must be tired.

He gave her a smug grin. "Exactly."

She settled back down to wait out the alarm. "You're such a goof."

"Who's a bigger goof, the goof or the goof who follows him?"

*Yawn* "What a terrible thing to say about Morgan," she mumbled.

He smiled, pressing 1-2-1-2 against her back. Mission accomplished. "Good night, wife."

* * *

Sarah sat in the breakfast nook, eating her reheated scalloped potatoes and ham for breakfast and staring at her suitcase by the door. She should have unpacked it by now but something made her keep her distance. Her husband was showering and singing and that thing wasn't letting her enjoy it.

Finally she got up and took it outside again, throwing it into the back seat of her car. Then she went back inside and finished her breakfast in peace.

* * *

Casey was getting ready for another day of being ready. His evening with Alex went about as well as he could have expected. He had to work at being accepted into her life, but he was the only 'family' she had out here, and their respective professions gave them some common interests. Even Grimes was helpful, in his unique, back-handed, unhelpful way.

He noticed his phone light blinking, which it hadn't been when he got in. Someone had called in the middle of the night. Someone had left a message.

Talk about unhelpful.

* * *

Ellie was smiling as he came in the door of her lab area. "You're looking cheerful, sis," said Chuck.

"Well, I hate to say it, Chuck, but I'm glad to be at work and not at home, right now." She traded in the smile for a frown. "I mean, I love Devon to death but he treats me like I'm made of spun glass. I can't take another twenty-seven weeks of that."

Chuck plopped himself down on his usual chair automatically. "Did you give him your 'caves and fields' speech?"

She started with her usual biometrics. "I don't think that would help, Chuck. He's already bought and assembled two bassinets, and three white noise machines. He's coming unwrapped."

"The only thing he's coming unwrapped from is your little finger, El. Don't be Pregnant You, just be You. And remember that the Buy More needs the receipt to give you a full refund."

* * *

"Now aren't you glad I didn't shoot you?" asked Sarah into the air near her speaker phone, after their rather depressing briefing ended. At least she could get her breakfast dishes done.

"I just can't believe she played us like that." Carina flung a knife at her dartboard. Bulls-eye, of course. Not what she'd rather be doing with a suddenly-unnecessary morning, but Davis was on duty.

"I can't believe we didn't see it coming." Sarah paused for the next _thunk!_ before continuing _._ "The most obvious trick in the world is to separate the lock from the key and we missed it."

"We didn't _miss_ it, we didn't even know it could be done." Carina crossed to her board and snatched the knives out. "Who makes bullets in sections, anyway? Isn't that like, the whole point of a bullet?"

"I think you're really talking about cartridges, and technically speaking a bullet is just a part of a cartridge, so congratulations. You've just managed to be both right and wrong at the same time."

"Is Chuck still there?" Carina was suspicious. That was Chuck-snark, not Sarah-snark.

"You know he's not. He's at work early, supporting Interpol looking for a master arms merchant and smuggler last seen in Milan."

 _Thunk!_ "You don't think she still is?"

Water rings on the counter. _I don't_ think _so._ "Would you be?"

Carina laughed. _Thunk!_ "I'd be packed up and way the hell out of–out of–"

"Dodge."

No thunk. "Packed."

Sarah scraped at something with a fingernail. "What?"

"Packed. She was packed."

She needed something stronger, and took a knife out of the drying rack. "If you call one dress packed." Actually, Carina _would_ call 'one dress' packed.

"But why that dress? A closet full of clothes and she saves the one she's just been seen in?"

The knife edge popped it off, something small, circular, and crystalline. "Sequins," said Sarah.

"What better way to slip some chips through Customs? As part of a collection from a fashion show."

"She's still in Milan." Until tomorrow night, when the event ended and all the participants scattered to the winds.

"I hope you're still packed."

Suddenly Sarah felt right for the first time that day. She threw the knife into the message board _thunk!_ and watched it quiver. "You have to ask?"

* * *

The young doorman pulled open the heavy door for the two beautiful Americans with every sign of pleasure in the task.

Carina smiled at him, pulling a feather from her skirt and handing it to him as they passed through. "About time," she muttered to her companion.

"Please, you're griping about having to open three doors?"

"You owe me two."

"I told you–"

"Did you know, you used to be a con artist as a young woman?" Not that she took much on faith anyway. Carina looked around the packed ballroom, with all its various entrances. "Which collection?"

"My spy senses tell me it's that one," said Sarah, pointing at an arch with two burly thugs in front of it.

"You want to get this one too?"

Sarah smiled sharply. "I've got it. Those are the two I owe you."

Carina watched as Sarah sauntered over to the two men, allowed them to slobber all over her hands, and then…chatted.

* * *

"I really am sorry to have misled you two gentleman," said Sarah, dropping her accent and removing her glasses. "I'm not really a model, but I do need to get through that door behind you, so I do hope you'll do me a favor and let me by." The two men didn't change expression as the both crumpled into thuggish heaps at her feet.

"Thank you so much."

Carina joined her as she drew the curtains on the mess. "Okay, spill."

Sarah held up her hands. "Chuck added some false fingerprints to the FRODO, with a coating of tranq juice on the outside." She went down the short hall.

"Clever," said Carina. "But next time I may not be here to open every door for your Highness, so tell him to put them in some gloves or something." She pointed at the knob. "After you."

Bags of clothes, racks of bags, hideously expensive and expensively hideous, destined to be worn once, twice if they were lucky, then auctioned off for charity and bartered progressively downward thereafter. The two agents worked their way through the collection quickly.

"Ah-ha," shouted Carina. "Here we go!"

"Good." Sarah stripped off her coat and pulled on the dress, but they weren't about to walk out there. Someone discovered the fallen guards and there weren't too many places to look.

"Quick," said Carina, "Through that door." No matter what, the chips had to be recovered.

Sarah went out as a small army came in, one of the smallest armies around, maybe five men. Four more than Carina, though.

* * *

"Carina!" shouted Sarah as the shooting started. A hammer cocked behind her, and she raised her hands.

"You look like the sort to buy off the rack," said Sofia.

* * *

The small army was very good, with dozens of kill shots scored in that tiny room. Unfortunately all of them were on the mannequins. The noise was absorbed by the dresses, and Carina knew no one would hear it over the sound of all the electro-pop music in the main ballroom.

She helped herself to the bar, a bo of metal that made quick work of four of the men, in her expert hands. The fifth, her giant bodyguard from the closet, had been watching, and snatched it away from her. He came closer, looming like the mountain he was. "You messed things up with Miss–" He stopped, blinking a bit. "Biss–" His face screwed up, making him even uglier than he already was. Carina dodged, as he sneezed right where her face would have been.

"You really should think about trading up," said Carina. "She's a pretty cold fish, if you ask me."

He came after her a second time. "You can't talk that way about by–Biss–" He stopped again, unable to see or to breathe, several sneezes forcing their way out of his mouth before Carina put him out of his misery. He snuffled a lot, but he was still breathing. She would save the real beating for her couturiere, he told her the ostrich feathers were _fake_! PETA would eat them alive.

Then the screaming started. Sarah!

Carina clambered over the men and debris, but the door wouldn't open, some stray bullet had hit the lock. So she clambered back over the men and debris, to get to the first door. She raced down the short hall, tripping over the two guards and plunging head first through the curtains into the well-lit hall, filled with paparazzi and their entourages.

No one noticed her.

Everyone was looking at the runway, and the two tall blondes in a life-or-death struggle on it. Sofia must have gotten in a few hits early, Carina noticed, but she wasn't getting any in now. No one had turned off the music and no one was going to as the two divas strutted their stuff. Even unarmed against her enemy's short knife, Sarah was dancing, and Sarah loved to dance.

A kick left Sofia Stefanova teetering on the brink, and Sarah moved in for the kill. Carina watched as Sarah screamed and leaped, only without the screaming, smiting her enemy with one blow. Silence fell over the room.

A camera flashed. Then another.

 _Uh-oh._

* * *

They sat at the table, Sarah holding a bag of ice to her eye as General Beckman started a slide show of images from their mission in Milan. Well, technically, after their mission in Milan. Some had photos of a wild-eyed, snarling, bloody-faced blonde on them, but the face of Miss Stefanova's enemy was obscured by long yellow hair and some blood. Most of the photos and headlines were focused on Miss Stefanova, a giant in her field, but not a popular one. Only a few shots caught Sarah, but that was from behind, as she limped from the runway with Carina's support. The final image was a cover, focused more on Carina's retreating bottom than on Sarah, one of the few with an English cover banner: 'Ostrich. The Next Big Thing?'

"Excellent work in Milan, ladies, although next time I see I'll have to send Carina to keep Sarah off the runway." The slide show ended, and the screen returned to Beckman's smiling face. "You recovered the chips, the bullets, and the seller. You've dealt Volkoff a major blow, and saved the world of good taste from high fashion for another year, all while managing to preserve your cover. Sarah, I hope to see you looking better very soon."

The second the screen went black Carina burst out laughing. "What?" said Sarah.

"'She's mine, bitch'?"

"I had to say something. And what are you complaining about?" asked Sarah, sounding snuffly, but not from allergies, to ostrich or anything else. "Would you rather they were going on about 'Combat Chic' all over Europe?"

"What, like my fashion victory wouldn't have happened without you?" Carina stood up. "I'm almost tempted not to go shopping on your behalf, but I will anyway, to demonstrate my generosity of spirit."

"You promised not to cheer me up anymore."

Carina paused as she opened the door. "I lied."

* * *

Sarah opened her suitcase, and stared at the assortment of clothing crumpled up inside. Cover clothes for cover roles, but she couldn't tell which were which any more.

"Need some help?" asked Chuck, watching from the door.

She turned the case over, dumping everything out in a big messy heap. "Nope." She turned it back over again.

At the bottom a fold of cloth flapped open. Chuck pointed, as if the she wouldn't have noticed otherwise. "Hey, it's ripped."

"No, it's not." Sarah snuck two fingers inside and teased out a piece of paper stuck way back in the lining.

He came over to smile at the picture of them during a real moment in the middle of a cover moment. "That's amazing."

"No it's not," said Sarah. "I may not use the glasses anymore but that doesn't mean I don't like to have you near me. You're my home, Chuck." She stepped up and draped her arms around his neck.

"I know, and I'm glad," he said, putting a little kiss on the tip of her nose. "I'm just surprised, that's all. I had to marry you to get your real name out of you, and now here you are, carrying us into battle. You're getting to be more like a real warrior princess every day." He put another kiss on her forehead. "I've never been so glad to see Morgan proven wrong, I mean, I'm usually glad when Morgan's wrong, but–"

"Wrong about what?"

"About us," said Chuck, "About marriage, about life. He has this weird idea about relationships and Achilles Heels, that you find the weak spot just when you think you're at your strongest." He picked up the picture. "But not us." He tucked it up safely in the case, and left the room to continue whatever he'd been doing.

She took it back out again, staring at it for a long time.


	9. Who's There?

**A/N** This was the point where I realized that I couldn't proceed with S4 in the same way I'd done S3. S3 had a single strong story, but S4 doesn't. It has two separate plots, with 2 distinct parts, and one of those plots was useless to me, since I already had the leads married to each other. I did homage the proposal plot, eventually, but only as slightly as I felt it should have been handled in canon. I would have liked to use Coup d'Etat, and Cubic Zirconium wasn't that bad either, except for a glaring plot error. But they were entirely devoted to the proposal plot, so they ended up playing a very minor role in this story.

Like the back six of S3, I used the useful parts of the episodes to fill in for the useless parts, compressing them into fewer episodes. In this case I looked at the front 13 and back 11 of S4 as separate stories, and overlapped them. E3 of the front half was mostly useless plot-wise, but E3 of the second half introduced Vivian Volkoff in an episode that had a number of useless bits. This gave me the idea to mash them together, and introduce Vivian much earlier than in canon, giving her character time to grow and develop into the malevolent witch she became. Frost also got time to plot and plan, making the eventual takedown of Volkoff more plausible. The character of Boris, who was hunting Vivian, fit neatly into the otherwise empty role of the nameless traitor from the previous episode, linking the two stories together very neatly.

Other important elements that got introduced here include the Castle Mainframe Interface, a gag they disposed of in canon, but which became a critical plot element in this version. There are a number of these in S4, brilliant plot devices that got thrown away, with no appreciation of their true value. I'd also completely forgotten that Chuck had promised Sarah 20 children back in the first episode of the first season. so I had to retcon the whole thing here. This was very handy for developing Sarah into more of a real girl, the pain plot arc of this season.

* * *

Casey never knocked. He demanded entrance, with varying degrees of lack of subtlety, and he usually got his way. "All right, Grimes, out with it," he barked as he walked through the doors of Morgan's little domain, the kitchen at the B&B where he made breakfast in the morning. "What's so important it has to cut into my range time?"

Morgan turned and shushed Casey to silence, gesturing urgently.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Grimes?"

Morgan snatched up a plate of pancakes and put it on the table. "Hear, sit down, pretend like you're my guest." He turned and watched the cutout in the wall anxiously.  
"I _am_ your guest," said Casey, taking the syrup. Grimes may be acting crazy, but he knew how to make a good pancake.

"Exactly! Just like that." He came up close, and lowered his voice. "We can't meet at the restaurant anymore."

"We haven't met at the restaurant _yet_." Casey shoved a huge helping of pancake into his mouth.

Morgan ignored the distinction, if he even heard it. "There's something weird going on at the restaurant, Colonel. After what you said last night I was keeping an eagle eye out. Some of my wait staff are like, outer space aliens or something."

Casey pretended to consider, while shoveling the pancakes into his mouth with a steady rhythm.

 _Ninety-nine percent drivel._

 _That CIA loony-bin doesn't allow visitors, does it?_

 _It would break Alex' heart._

 _One percent brilliance._

"All right, Grimes," he said, putting his fork down on his now-empty plate. "I'll come by your place tonight. You can show me. But you know what they did to the boy who cried wolf?"

He'd never played that video game. "Um…no."

Neither did Casey. "Well, it'll be nothing compared to what I do to the nerd who cries 'alien'."

* * *

Frost never knocked. She announced herself. "You have a task for me, Alexei?" The guards outside closed the doors, quite certain that they didn't want to hear what went on in the boss' office.

Alexei Volkoff turned his chair as she stopped in front of his desk. "Yes, Frost," he said in his curious accent, part British, part…avalanche. "Our traitor is proving himself more troublesome than I'd hoped."

No surprise. "Boris was one of our best."

"Indeed," agreed Volkoff. _The_ best, after Frost herself. He looked around his office dispassionately. "I'd expected him to be one of the few contenders for my throne after I'd gone, but his misguided strike against you has forced him out into the open." He handed her a flash drive. "Some of my lieutenants have gone dark. Take Packard and his team and find out what's happening."

She took the drive but didn't leave at the dismissal. "You think he's moving against you?"

Volkoff chuckled. "Against me? No. He knows if he did that he'd have to go up against you and he'd never win that." If only because Volkoff would send an army after him if Frost herself were killed. Then he lost his smile, wintry though it had been. "No, I think he's playing a longer game. He's not after me, he's after my future."

"Your future?"

Volkoff wasn't _that_ trusting. "Never you mind, Frost. My future is quite secure, and quite safe, but if Boris continues there may be no Volkoff Industries _in_ that future, and that I just cannot allow." He smiled at her. "You'll fix that for me, won't you, Frost?"

* * *

Sarah entered without knocking, just as if she were home, which, in a way, she was. Chuck was her home, and this place was built around him, for him. Protective and protected, just like her. The woman at its heart was just like–well, not just like her. Ellie was devoted to Chuck, too. Ellie had made him the man he was today, and she stood by him just as Sarah did, keeping him at his best in every way possible.

"Hey, Sarah," said her sister-in-law, turning at the sound of the door, striking a pose that emphasized a figure that was no longer as slim and trim as it used to be.

Ellie was a wife, and Ellie was…not a spy. Sarah mustered a smile she did not feel. "You wanted to see me, Ellie?"

"Yeah." Ellie completed her turn, hiding her body's changes from those who weren't looking for it. "I just wanted to let you know that this upload will include the first files from Dad's repository." The ones he'd bothered to type out, before he realized he wasn't writing for anyone but himself. Later files were in longhand and would have to be transcribed.

For a second Sarah stopped, wondering if one of those files would have a list of Orion's secret hideouts, but then she realized that Ellie probably wasn't bringing it up for that reason. "How do you think he'll take it?"

Ellie shrugged. "No way to tell. He was nine when our mother left, and most of these files will be about her, and Dad's search for her. He could take heart from that, or it could…"

"It could destroy whatever heart he has left, is that what you're saying?"

Ellie sought refuge behind her desk, sitting in her chair. "What I'm saying is that this would be a really good time for him to be reminded how much family he has with him right now."

"When will you do it?"

"After the briefing. If there's one thing Chuck's experience with Carmichael taught us, it's that his emotional state affects the upload." Ellie paused, and Sarah nodded confirmation. "The briefings get him in a professional mood, which is good by itself, and possibly he may be primed to flash on items relevant to them."

Sarah smiled at the thought of a lab rat with a little General's hat on. "Are you scripting _them_ , too?"

"Not yet," drawled Ellie, looking down. "Oh, God, I have to go to the bathroom again." She looked up at Sarah, and scrambled to get out of her chair. "I swear it has to be psychological, she's a peanut, she can't be really causing me this much trouble so soon." She walked around the desk and Sarah, who hastily backed out of her path as she raced for the door. "See you at the briefing."

Sarah waved, a little, then went to leave and go back to her–man, who would want to hear the latest about his sister. But what else could she do?

* * *

Casey lifted his hand, too late. Another second, and he might have been able to brace his arm, but as it was Sarah's kick pushed his padded forearm in as easily as Casey was trying to push it out. More easily in fact, since it moved right past his elbow and clouted him hard on the cheek.

"You're in a mood," he said over the sound of bells.

"Combat is supposed to be realistic."

Casey thought back to the last time he'd seen her angry. "So now I'm Heather Chandler?"

"Hyah!" she yelled, the only warning he got as she launched a blizzard of strikes that quickly drove him outside the practice circle. "I'm nothing like her!" she yelled before she realized what she'd just done, and stood down. "Not anymore."

Casey grunted. "Touched a nerve though, didn't I?" He stepped back into the circle.

"She had a husband who loved her, and now he's in Witness Protection while she's at Yucca Mountain."

"You reprioritized," said Casey, launching his own attack, which she easily blocked. "She didn't."

She stepped back. "You really think so?"

He stepped forward. "I know the signs."

"Signs of _what?_ " Kick-strike-punch. "Oh, you mean the way you reprioritized Alex?"

"My priorities are the same." Punch-block-strike-ow! "God, country, duty, Corps. I call, but she's a grown woman. I don't know where I fit in her life."

"Would it have been easier if you'd been in her life from the beginning?"

Casey blocked that punch too. "Is that what this is about, you and the nerd, spawning?"

"Ellie's pregnant."

Casey snorted, and moved in. "And he's gonna be thinking about his own. That what you're worried about?"

"Are you kidding?" kick-punch. "He owes me twenty."

Casey's face twisted in disgust. "Twenty little nerdlings? How'd you get him to commit to _that_?"

 _How high can Casey count?_ "I'll tell you sometime." When he was old and arthritic, significantly reducing the chances of killing her or her husband for holding him to ransom.

He grunted. "So he wants them, and you want them. I don't see the problem."

"I'm at my peak!" Strike-kick-punch-block-strike.

"I hate peaks." Casey shook his head to clear the ringing. "Only two things you can do when you've reached the top of the ladder, Bartowski. Go back down, or step off and start climbing a different ladder. Me, I'd rather go out while I'm on top." _'Cause going back down'll get you killed._ A bell rang. "Time."

* * *

"Team, we have a situation in Eastern Europe," said Beckman. "Last night, the CIA and NSA were supposed to coordinate with Interpol to take down three of Volkoff's top lieutenants. By the time we got their locations, they were already dead." The faces of the victims appeared on screen two.

"Suspects?" asked Carina over the speakerphone, because there were always suspects.

A face appeared on the second screen. "Interpol suspects this man, Boris Kaminsky, a top Volkoff enforcer, but it's unlikely that he's operating under orders in this matter. The three victims appear to have been key pieces in the Volkoff network."

"So he's a traitor?" Casey really hated traitors.

"Apparently so, although no one is quite sure why. Interpol is asking our help in this matter. They were impressed with the work we did for them regarding Miss Stefanova. Even though Sarah and Carina captured her, Chuck also provided a great deal of intel on her operations that they had somehow managed to miss." Beckman gave them a smug little smile of approval.

Chuck smiled back, naturally. "Glad I could help, General."

"Hopefully you'll be able to do even better this, time, Chuck. They haven't been able to provide us with any new information about their latest operations, so anything we can give them will show us in a very good light, internationally."

That prospect pleased Casey. "Show 'em how it's done, Bartowski."

"This looks like a good test scenario for the new procedure, General," said Ellie.

"What new procedure?" asked Carina.

"Uploads after the briefing, Agent Miller," said Beckman. "We've had some successes with flashes during the briefings, but we're hoping to increase that ratio."

"Dad said the flashes need a seed to form around, so hopefully the same holds true for the upload."

"So you're what, _aiming_ him? Are you sure that's safe?"

"We're map-making, Carina," said Ellie. "That's never safe."

Beckman almost smiled that Ellie remembered her own analogy. "Make yourself ready to leave your current assignment at a moment's notice, Agent Miller; Monaco will just have to live without you and your fashion contributions. It all depends on Chuck, now."

One side of Chuck's mouth twitched upward nervously. "But no pressure, right, General?"

"Didn't you hear me, Chuck? Of course there's pressure. Don't let your country down." She moved her hand and the screen went black.

"Wow, she has, like, no sense of humor, does she?"

"You just figured that out now, Bartowski?" sneered Casey. "The free world is doomed."

* * *

One Intersect upload later…

"How do you feel, Chuck?"

Chuck sat staring at his hands, not immediately entering his correlations in the log as was his wont. "It feels a little strange, sis."

'Strange' did not necessarily mean 'bad'. "How so, Chuck? Do we need to remove it?"

He moved his hands to the keyboard, and they started typing. "I don't think so, El. I'm not sure if it's me focusing the upload, or the fact that these are Dad's notes, but…I _feel_ like I wrote them. It's all very familiar to me, somehow."

Ellie hit the mute button to avoid distracting him, and pressed the intercom. "Manoosh, bring up the brain scan."

"You got it, boss."

"Why am I thinking of Somerset?" asked Chuck.

She unmuted him. "Where is that, Chuck?"

He typed quickly, recognized the map when he saw it. "Near Wales."

She skyped the names to Manoosh. "We'll start searching the dataset, especially Dad's additions. Probably it's nothing more than you knowing how Dad thinks, plus he coded the Intersect in the first place. Keep working. We've got the scanner on."

"Anything I should be doing in particular?"

"Nope, just lie back, and…think of England."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** This opening is from the Anniversary, the first case of me robbing one episode to fill in the holes in another. Similarly, Morgan demonstrating the behavior of the wait staff in his restaurant is a scene from Suitcase, I think. The banter in the horse stall was pretty spur of the moment, and led to me painting Vivian as a lonely girl with a crush. Vivian was never very well drawn in canon, so her motivations were obscure and she was hard to care about.

When Ellie says, "I don't know what I'm thinking", I actually had something in mind, but I've long since forgotten what it was. I've also added a little text here, indicating time and place. Some of the scene shifts are a bit jarring. Did anyone notice the sudden disappearance of the horse, once the gunplay started?

* * *

"…And so, with the good king free and safe on his throne, the Frost Queen returned to her own land and family once more, a hero. And she promised her children that she would never, ever, leave them again." She closed the book. "Good story?"

He snuggled down in his bed, warm and safe. Any story was a good story when she was telling it. "The best, Mom." When she got out of his bed he suddenly felt cold, even as she was pressing the blankets closer around him. "Are you going away again?"

"Yes," she said from the doorway. "But only for a little while, then I'll be back home with you and Ellie forever."

"I love you, Mom."

" _Chuck?"_

"Not nearly as much as I love you." The door closed with a boom, and his mother was gone. Little Chuck leapt from his bed and opened it. The hall was long and empty and his mother was already far away. With every step he took toward her, the farther away she got.

"Mom!"

" _Chuck!"_

She opened another door at the far end. "Hello, Alexei. My name is Frost." In spite of the incredible distance between them, little Chuck could hear every word.

A man's hand reached out from the darkness and took hers, leading her away, into the darkness with him. "Hello Frost. Welcome to Volkoff Industries."

The door slammed shut behind her with the sound of doom.

* * *

"Ahhh!" His eyes opened wide as he shouted, his arms flailing about. Fortunately his chair was tilted back, otherwise his keyboard would have gone flying.

"Chuck, answer me!" shouted Ellie over the speaker.

He was…in his room. The Intersect room. His little bunker away from home. "I must have fallen asleep, El," he mumbled, tilting his chair vertical again. "Sorry. It was just a nightmare."

"No it wasn't, Chuck."

Not even sisterly authority stretched _that_ far. "Sis, I've seen enough nightmare dream sequences to recognize the special effects–"

"The scanner showed no alpha activity, Chuck. You weren't asleep, you weren't dreaming."

"That was a flash?"

"I would assume so. What was the content? You were thinking about Mom?"

He nodded, not that she could see it. "The night she left."

"So it was a memory?"

"Not unless our house had expanding corridors." He got up to get a drink. "I don't think Dad had invented those yet."

"Expanding corridors?"

"And a door, with Volkoff Industries on the other side."

The speaker made a noise, like someone humming.

Chuck knew that sound, although it usually had more frequencies than a standard speaker was able to transmit. "What are you thinking, sis?"

"I'm thinking…" she drawled out, and he imagined her writing something down on a piece of paper, even with a computer and three word-processing apps available. "You know, I don't know what I'm thinking. Who's Vivian McArthur, Chuck?"

"Why do you think I would know?"

"You wrote down her name while you were thinking about Mom."

Chuck went back to his chair. Sure enough there was the name, along with a bunch of other words and phrases. Unlike the others, though, which he would flesh out and eventually release to the analyst's pool for further action, he couldn't attach a meaning to it. It hung there, in his mind and on his screen, alone and unattached. "No idea. Have you tried Google?"

* * *

The briefing, part two.

"Volkoff Industries, through a variety of shell companies and other fronts–" Chuck put a graphic up on the screen that illustrated the complexity of the network "–is the sole owner and support of an English estate." More pictures, probably from a realtor's listing. "The manor is in Somerset, near the Welsh border, with no direct connections to London or the British political establishment, or _any_ political establishment, for that matter."

"Safe house?" guessed Casey.

"Residence."

"For who, Chuck?"

Another graphic, a girl's outline, a white silhouette on a black background, with only a name.

"Who the hell is Vivian McArthur?"

"That's exactly what we need to find out, Colonel Casey," said the General. "We ran the name through every database we have, CIA, NSA, ATF, DMV. She has no Facebook page, no twitter handle, and while Google has several listings, none of them are hers."

"If it is a her," added Chuck. "In England Vivian could also be a boy's name."

Casey couldn't care less about popular naming traditions in England, or indeed anywhere. Nobody gets to an English estate without a paper trail of some kind, unless they had lots of help. "How'd you twig to the estate, then?"

"Here's something you should appreciate, Casey," said Chuck. "The Orion data had a footnote. A single isolated datum with no connections to anything else."

"And you connected it anyway." Casey grunted, impressed. "How'd you manage it?"

"White pages."

It took them all a few seconds to translate the term. "The phone book?" asked Sarah, incredulous.

"Genius," said Carina. "Who'd ever think to look there?"

"Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best," added Chuck. "You remember, Sarah, how Hannah figured out the Ring was using our own communications protocols against us?"

"Right."

"Explain, Mr. Bartowski."

"Back when Hannah first started with us, General, she was tasked to upgrade the encryption in all the watches, but she forgot Sarah's. As a result, Sarah could hear the Ring agents communicate, using the old encryption scheme. They were hiding right behind us, so to speak. I can think of several other examples, like this comic book I read–"

"Moving on," said the General. "Following Chuck's lead, we have located in the local press a single current reference to the house in question. It will be the site of a fundraiser for a local equestrian charity in two days time. If this Kaminsky person is moving against Volkoff, he will quite likely be moving against anything Volkoff wants hidden as much as Miss McArthur is."

"What's the play?" asked Carina. "Alert Interpol?"

"No, Agent Miller. We'll have to keep them in the loop, obviously, but through slow channels. Let them keep their focus on Europe, and Volkoff's focus on them. We, meanwhile, will secure the party, ascertain the status of this McArthur person, male or female, and if the opportunity arises, take Boris Kaminsky into custody. Any questions?"

"Uh, yes, General," said Chuck immediately. "If they're going stag to this party, they'll have to bring their own gear. What is the dress code?"

* * *

Later, at Morgan's restaurant...

Casey sat down at the table where Morgan was enjoying a little pre-work snack. "Okay, Grimes, I'm here. Now let's hurry this up, I've gotta catch the red-eye tonight."

"Sure thing, Colonel," said Morgan, pushing his dinner plate away. It hit the glass, slopping water everywhere. "Walk with me." He stood up, spilling crumbs from his napkin.

Casey followed, watching in disgust as his host absent-mindedly pulled the cloth from his collar and dumped it on some table while brushing his shirt, jacket, and even his beard free of detritus. Silently vowing never to eat here again, he checked six instinctively. "What the hell–?" He stopped short.

Morgan stopped shorter. "They done yet?" he muttered under his breath.

"'They' who?" asked Casey. "There's no one there."

"Exactly." Morgan turned, checking over his spotless domain, every setting perfect, every napkin folded just so, every chair placed with absolute precision.

"Spooky," breathed Casey.

"I bring my dinner from home," said Morgan. "I've been checking everywhere for pods, too, but no luck so far."

"Grow up, Grimes," said Casey. "You're gonna have to someday, may as well be now."

Morgan ducked his head nervously, snatched at his cuffs. "I happen to think looking for pod people is _very_ responsible," he muttered.

"In _Washington?_ "

Morgan knew when he was beat. "Okay, you've got a point. So what do we do?"

" _We_ do nothing," growled Casey. " _You_ will do your job, and pretend nothing is wrong. _I_ will see some people I know."

"Who?" asked Morgan immediately. "Ghostbusters? NASA?"

Casey had about reached the limit of his creative powers. Lying was nothing to him, but lying to Morgan took work. "Top. Men."

"Oh, no," said Morgan, backing away. "That's what they said to Indiana Jones and look how that turned out. No infinite warehouse for me, thank you very much."

"Fine. You win." He pulled Morgan into the alcove by the bathroom, and whispered as much as he ever whispered, "I'm going to NASA to ask about recent impacts near here."

Morgan nodded, slapping Casey's chest in approval. "Now you're using your head."

"You did the right thing, coming to me with this, Grimes. We've got to play this cool, otherwise they'll just invade some other city."

"Now you're just messing with me, Colonel," scoffed Morgan. "You don't get do-overs on invasions, everybody knows that."

True enough. "Fine, you got me." Casey hurried to the door. "I'll be in touch."

"I'll be here," said Morgan. "Just, you know, hopefully not a zombie, or possessed." He was talking to air, and a swinging door.

Outside, Casey already had his phone to his ear. "General, we have a problem with Grimes…"

* * *

The next night, at the party...

Chuck watched the woman in the mask walk away. "Muddled thyme, Casey? What the hell is muddling?"

"It's like what you do with all our national secrets, Bartowski, only I do it with thyme. You have to know that sort of thing to be a bartender, you know. Now shut up and be British. That's what you're here for."

Just as Chuck was about to point out the difficulty of being British without speaking, a woman appeared, asking for an extra wedge of lime. "Quite so," said Chuck, sounding all stiff and upper-crusty as he produced the requested item with his second-best smile.

"Thanks, love," she said, winking at him.

Chuck shuddered. "Now that's just creepy. Have I told you how much I hate masquerade parties?"

"Only all the way over here on a seven-hour flight."

"White wine? Certainly, madam," said Chuck, walking to the other end of the bar, and Casey left him to it as he checked in with rest of the team, out on the floor.

"I just met Boris," said Sarah, "Green and gold mask. No luck with Vivian."

"No luck on my end, either," said Carina. "And I do mean end. I've talked to a heart, two flowers, and far too many men who think a little mask and a lot of booze gives them license to be all handy."

"You're complaining?"

"Davis likes searching me for fingerprints, and I don't want him to find any."

* * *

Chuck felt confident he could handle a simple request for wine on his own. Flashing on bartending skills while maintaining his British demeanor gave him headaches. "Your wine, madam, although I must say I grow concerned about the vintage."

"Whatever for?" she asked. "It's excellent."

"Yet you don't seem to be enjoying the party."

"That's not the wine's fault." She leaned in close, and lowered her voice. "It's the masks. I can't help thinking of that awful movie."

"I agree," said Chuck, not having to fake his disdain. "Both bland and dreadful, and I count myself one of the man's legion of fans. I'd have a word with the hostess, if I were you. Do you know who she is?"

"I doubt anyone does," said the lady bitterly, into her glass.

Suddenly Casey groaned behind him, and Chuck turned, but whatever had caused the sudden fit passed just as quickly. He shook off Chuck's hand. "Boris is here, numb-nuts. We need to find Vivian before he does."

Chuck turned back to look over the crowd, to find an empty wine glass waiting for him. It had been full a second ago. He lifted it. "I think I already have."

* * *

One game of hide-and-seek with Vivian later, in a horse-stall with no horse...

"Explain to me why I'm here again?" shouted Chuck, hands over his ears as he hunkered down in the stable. He hoped the wall would be enough to stop a bullet, but prepared to throw himself over Vivian's body in case it wasn't.

"You're not British?" said Vivian.

Chuck shook his head. "I doubt that's it."

Even Sarah got a smile out of that one, but fortunately for her professional reputation she was turned away, looking for escape routes from the stables, and neither of them saw it before she forced it away. _That's why._ Vivian would hold it together for him, while _she_ did what she did best. Her face, when she looked for targets, was a mask of ice.

Sarah would protect the world for his sake.

"You're not a bartender either, are you?" asked Vivian.

"Was it that obvious?"

"Not to me. This is my first party." A hail of bullets blew chips from the walls around them. "And probably my last."

"Not if I can help it," said Chuck, kneeling in the hay as the bullets flew.

Sarah smiled again, listening to the man she loved, protecting the girl who still wanted to be able to throw a party.

Vivian ignored the kneeling and the hay, even the bullets. "So, you're going to make me throw more parties, are you?"

"I don't think that's even in the CIA's mandate. Sarah?"

"Parties are optional, Chuck." She squeezed off a single shot, her supply of bullets limited, but as long as it was larger than Boris' supply of henchmen she was okay with that.

"Give me the key, Vivian," yelled Boris.

Chuck winced. Things had been going so well. "Now _that_ sort of is. I don't suppose you happen to know what key he's talking about?"

Vivian pulled herself from his witty banter and warm eyes. _Right_. Bullets. Life. Key? "No."

"Of course you don't. So I guess you don't know why he thinks Volkoff gave it to you, then. He seems to have given you everything else."

Chuck couldn't miss the pain in her eyes, a match for the bitterness in her voice earlier, as she said, "I haven't seen him in years."

Chuck could feel her loss, wondering why. "But you do know him?"

"Of course I know him," she said. "He's my father."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Somehow I forgot to post this on Wednesday, sorry about that. One of my favorite chapters. I always thought Vivian had a thing for Chuck but they never showed it in canon. It certainly would have made her descent into villainy a bit more understandable. Much as I liked the Cubic Zirconium episode, I couldn't think of much to do with it, which is why I made it a background story to the Masquerade, starting here.

* * *

Vivian had no idea where she was. The firefight in the garage and the whirlwind escape had left her as drunk as any 'several large glasses of wine' had ever done.

The woman called Sarah, to whose legs Vivian had clung, stabilizing her as she stood in a moving car, seemed unmoved by the carnage. Her partners, the ones who covered them while they ran for the vehicle, seemed to almost take joy in it, if the jokes and insults they traded were any indication. Only Chuck, adding 'professional driver' to his impressive resume, showed any human warmth, sparing her a quick wink while his team dove into the back seats, looking just a little bit nervous. Strangely, that eased her own fears even as her car did things the owner's manual said it couldn't under his hands. He kept it from acquiring any bullet holes, but still she suspected its trade-in value was much reduced.

"You're very good," she'd said, awkwardly twisted around to avoid looking back or especially up.

"Thanks," he'd replied with a grin. "This 'driving on the left' thing is really hard." Under the circumstances, the tired old joke was even funny.

After the escape, the team had taken it in turns, driving through the night. She stayed safely in the back, with an agent on one side and Chuck on the other. He seemed to know the words to every Monty Python sketch ever made, and most of the songs too, but his British accent, so impeccable at the bar, was terribly bad in the back seat.

The garage took her by surprise, as the growing light of dawn was suddenly eclipsed, and the car came to an abrupt halt. "Everybody out!" ordered the big agent, rudely.

Only Chuck seemed as confused as she. "Where are we, Casey?" he asked, courteously offering her a hand out of the back seat.

"Vacation cottage," said the other man. "Your MI6 buddy found it for us."

From the look on his face, and the glance he shared with Sarah, it was quite clear that Chuck would not have exactly claimed friendship with whomever it was they were talking about. Now here she was, sitting at a kitchen table in a nondescript room, her head spinning once again. "My father isn't a psychopathic monster, he's an oil company executive."

"Almost worse," grunted Casey, cleaning his guns.

Another tired old joke, not very funny. Chuck made a little noise in his throat and pulled out his map of the true ownership of her home, while Casey took the hint and left the room.

* * *

Morgan went about his business as usual, or as usual as it can be when surrounded by alien invaders. If he still was. How could he know?

He spotted a couple getting ready to leave and went over to thank them for their patronage. As they walked away, he swiped a piece of leftover bread. A few paces later he threw pieces of it on the floor and kept walking. After a five count he turned and looked.

Still there.

Oh, thank God. Well, God and Colonel Casey. "Hey, Sam? We need a broom by table six."

"Sure thing, Mr. Grimes." As Morgan left for his office and a well-earned collapse, Sam called over the busboy. "Okay, _now_ you can clean up the bread."

* * *

Casey walked in on a briefing in progress. "How did she take the news?" asked Beckman.

"She seemed genuinely upset, General," said Sarah, answering the real question. "I believe she was truly unaware of her father's real business."

"And now?"

"Bartowski's walking her through it as we speak," said Casey.

"I don't envy him that," said the General. "Now. What's your plan? Obviously she can't go home again."

* * *

"I have to go back home," said Vivian.

"No-o-oo," said Chuck, not a command so much as the Universe screaming its denial through him. "Boris knows where you live, he'll be waiting for you there!"

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why would he be waiting for me there?" she asked reasonably. "You and your team rescued me with a hail of bullets. Wouldn't home be the last place I would go?"

"Unless he thinks that's exactly what we'd think," said Chuck, tapping the table. "But you're right, no real agent would ever go back to a burned safehouse."

Wrong choice of words. "They burned it? I had guests!" _And Artemis!_

He took her hands in his. "No, no, that's just what they call it when a safe house is no longer safe." He tried to let her go. "Your guests should be fine, better, in fact, once you left. These guys are pros, they had no reason to threaten anyone else." Boris had spent time among them, and had to know how little anyone knew of their hostess.

His words comforted her, but only a little, and she released him. "I have to go back, I have to look after my horse. I have to make the rounds and apologize, it's the done thing." Not that being a socialite was ever high on her to-do list.

"You'll be the done thing!" said Chuck, making several violent gestures in the space between them. "Boris was one of those guests, once he hears you're back he'll be after you like a shot."

"And you'll be there." She gazed earnestly into his face. "Won't you?"

It wasn't hard to catch her meaning. "You'd let them use you as bait?"

 _No one uses me._ "I don't like being hunted, but I've no experience being the hunter." _I'm using you._ She cocked her head to one side, confused. "What did you mean, 'them'?"

Them? Oh. _That_ them. "I'm…not an agent. I'm just the team analyst, the C-and-C guy. I was supposed to stay behind the bar, but you left the party and I couldn't be left exposed."

His admission recast everything that had happened last night in an entirely new mould. Shock and shame, that she'd pulled him into danger. Amazement at how deftly he'd pulled her out of it. She took his hands in hers. "You didn't look 'just' anything to _me_ last night, Mr. Charles." And if he was 'just an analyst', how good must their agents be?

The C-and-C guy stared at her, speechless and thoughtless. "Uh," he said, trying to pull his hands away. He fell back on his usual default, with a number three smile. "Please. Call me Chuck."

No man had ever smiled at her like that, not even her father. "Okay, Chuck. Will you help me, Chuck? I've got to _do_ something, got to… _be_ someone."

He wanted to tell her 'Stay in the car, Vivian', but he couldn't. He just had to figure out a way that no one else could.

* * *

"I want you home, Frost."

"I want to _be_ home, Alexei," said the woman called Frost with utter sincerity in her voice. "Between money and Packard's…inventive methods of persuasion, we've gotten just about everything we're going to get here. Three deaths, three bullets. Jurek's car, disabled. Antonia's gun, empty of bullets. And Christoph–"

"What about Christoph?" growled Volkoff.

"He was…sweaty," said Frost. "His dinner was partially eaten, but he reeked of cheap vodka."

Volkoff's voice got so low the phone vibrated in her hands. "Drink is not one of his vices."

Frost knew what those were, as well as he did. "But it is a crutch to a frightened man."

"Not many things frighten Christoph." Volkoff was proud to be one of them. "You think he talked?"

"Of course he talked," said Frost immediately. They wanted him to talk, or at least she did. Passwords could be replaced, but good lieutenants were much harder to come by. "He knew what Boris could be like. The question is, what did he talk about?"

Alexei Volkoff looked at his second screen, displaying a minor sidebar piece about a party in England. Nothing to worry about there, his enemies had that one well in hand. Boris was the wildcard now. "Never you mind. Come home now, Frost. Let Packard continue with this business, you have to take over the Panzer operation. He goes into Yucca Mountain today."

Frost knew all about Boris' operations, especially the secret ones. "The Chandler woman?"

"That wench cost me a half a billion dollars!"

"True, but killing her wouldn't be nearly as soul-crushingly satisfying as letting her live in that hell-hole. You could let her rot a bit, then finish her off."

"I considered that," said Alexei. "But Boris has killed off some of my ablest men, not to mention the loss of Sofia. I need to do some recruiting, and Mr. Panzer will do nicely."

If so, it would be the only thing she ever heard of Panzer doing nicely. "Do you think he has the capacity?"

Volkoff growled contemplatively into the phone. He had quite a variety of growls. "He performed well for the Ring in the past, until he ran afoul of Carmichael. What a blessing for us that those two destroyed each other."

"And a blessing for this Mr. Charles."

If Volkoff was angry at the reminder, it didn't show in his voice. He changed the subject, though. "At the very least, if he is no more than the gorilla he appears, he can free up one of my other men to advance."

"What if he fails?" Not that she needed to ask.

"Then he stays." Nothing like a little incentive.

* * *

"Can I just go on record as saying I hate this idea?"

"You said it in front of the General, Casey, I think that's 'on record' enough," said Carina. "If anyone should be complaining it's me. You actually like the dress-up and the face-paint and the lying in grass. I got called out of Monaco to wait in a tree?"

"Dibs!" yelled Chuck.

"Di–Nuts!"

"What?" asked Vivian.

"I got my innuendo first," said Chuck. "Radio silence, people. It's hard to set a trap when the cage is screaming 'look at me' to everyone on our frequency."

"Speaking of frequency–"

"Shut it, Miller."

Miller shut it, and so did Casey. Chuck let out a sigh. "Lesson twenty-two."

"Twenty-two?" asked Vivian, from the shadows of the stable.

"Blessed silence," answered Sarah, adjusting the locket around her neck as she strode up to Artemis . She mounted as Vivian would have, without a block. Chuck moved back into the building as she rode off slowly, taking Artemis for his morning exercise.

"Can I just go on record as saying I hate this plan?"

Vivian frowned. "It's your plan, isn't it?"

"Yeah it is, but it's not the best."

If there was a better one why weren't they following it? "What's the best?"

"Your enemies all have convenient heart attacks while you're home watching Star Wars on the newly re-re-re-re-re-remastered Blu-Ray edition." Sarah was lost in the distance, and he turned his gaze to the woman closer by. "I do what I can to make sure no one on my team gets hurt, but there's always a chance someone out there is more clever than me-than _I_."

She smiled at his slip, but it didn't last. "It must be hard to care in a business like yours."

His mobile, smiling face went utterly still. "It's harder not to. I don't even want to hurt my enemies, much less my team. They're friends, even family."

"Even Casey?"

The annoying big brother from Home Alone, but yeah. "Even Casey. Just don't tell him I said that."

"Too late."

"Carina!" said Sarah in their ears. "I was enjoying that."

Chuck's hand went to his ear as his face went red. "Hey! What part of radio silence do you not understand?"

"Next time turn off your mike, idiot."

Chuck pounded his head on the stable wall as Vivian sank down on a haybale, laughing.

"I'm at the first marker," said Sarah.

As Vivian watched, the man in front of her transformed with a shiver. No more head-banging, no more jokes. He stood straight, reminding her just how tall he was, and pulled out his gun, checking its readiness.

When he caught her looking at him in surprise, he ostentatiously clicked off his mike long enough to say, "No bullets. Tranq darts." Then he winked at her, the professional driver once more, and turned his mike back on. "Okay team," said Mr. Charles, deadly serious. "Here's where it gets interesting."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N** One of the most criminally wasted elements in the show is introduced here, the Castle Mainframe Interface. In canon it was a thirty-second joke, whereas in this story it appears multiple times as the ultimate security program. At this point in my version of the story, I didn't have a clear notion who created it. I originally thought it was made by one of the Castle denizens, but then it became one of Orion's joke programs. One of many ways in which Frost and Orion interacted over the years. It also leads to the reveal that Frost is Mary Bartowski

The entirety of the events of Cubic Zirconium (minus the soap-opera of the Proposal plotline) are a background story to the events of this part of Masquerade (in which Vivian rides her horse out and back), which should give you some idea of how empty both episodes actually were.

* * *

"She's down!" said Casey in everyone's ears. "Repeat, Walker is down! I'm moving in to support."

Chuck almost panicked, but then Vivian started to rise, and he suppressed the impulse for her sake. _Cool and calm, Bartowski, cool and calm_. "Do you need assistance?" he asked, waving her back to her seat.

"Negative," said Casey. "Stick to the plan. Fifteen seconds."

"What happened, Casey?" asked Carina, because Chuck–sorry, _Mr. Charles_ –wouldn't, not with a civilian on the network. "Was she shot?"

"Didn't hear one," said the big man, a little out of breath as he moved and talked at the same time. "The horse just reared and threw her."

Chuck turned to look at Vivian, eyebrow raised.

"That's not possible," she said. "Artemis has been extensively trained. She'd never rear unless she was commanded, and your agent doesn't know the command."

Chuck nodded, and she felt a bit of relief, that he wasn't somehow holding her responsible for his agent's fall.

"Be alert, Casey," he said. "Boris got sneaky, and went for the horse rather than the rider. Overrode its training somehow, don't know how."

Casey didn't respond, and when Chuck heard the sound of his rifle firing in the distance he knew why.

* * *

Alexei Volkoff was used to his mere presence capturing the attention of everyone, in whatever room he chose to enter. Well, everyone except Frost, who could keep her focus on the objective under any circumstances. It was one of her more valuable abilities, as it made her one of the few who could offer him objective advice, offer criticisms of his schemes in the planning stage. No one else had the courage to ignore him.

She wasn't ignoring him now. "What's the matter, Frost?"

"Boris' plan was rash, and ill-considered."

He appreciated her circumspection. No plan would have been put into operation without his approval, but by phrasing it the way she did, they could blame its failings on a known traitor. "How so?"

"I spotted three separate failure points in the timeline, with inadequate failsafes. The truck breaking down in the desert was the least of them."

"The truck was supposed to break down in the desert."

"Yes, it was." She pointed to a map. "Here, where we could stage a helicopter for extraction once the operation was complete."

He nodded. That area had gaps in its coverage that they could exploit. When the bodies were discovered, especially hers, preferably chewed on by a variety of scavengers, the blame would correctly go on Panzer, but the manhunt would be in entirely the wrong place.

Frost moved her hand considerably up the line of the desert highway. "Unfortunately the truck has already broken down, here."

 _Bollocks._ Too close to LA. "Can we extract by land?"

She shook her head. "Too easy to clog the exits, they do it themselves a dozen times a day."

They couldn't just abort the mission. No one lied to Alexei Volkoff, but Alexei Volkoff lied to no one. He'd made a pact with this devil and by God he would keep it. "What support _can_ we give our Mr. Panzer?" Of course she would know, her plans were never ill-considered, but he only had one of her, and this operation wasn't that important.

He could use another like her, but where could he find another such treasure?

Frost smiled. "Their nearest support facility is Castle, in Burbank. The truck is limping there now."

Volkoff grinned. Castle, of all places! Panzer would need no support, beyond that which his enemies would supply in buckets. Chandler was as good as dead. "May God have mercy on her soul." His grin faded. "Because I will not."

* * *

Vivian couldn't just sit anymore. Someone had been attacked in her place, injured because of her. She stood in the shadows, pacing. Pacing for two, since Mr. Charles was quite steady. She envied him. "I see what you mean, about your enemies being clever."

Mr. Charles took in a deep breath, let it out again. "Anyone can be sneaky once. It's who's sneaky most, who's sneaky _last_ , that matters." _My mind is a raging torrent, rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives!_

"Chuck, microphone," said Carina.

"Dammit!" He toggled his mike off.

Vivian interrupted him, pointing a finger out the stable door. "Here comes Artemis!" She ran out before Chuck could stop her.

The horse slowed in the familiar setting, when she saw a familiar face. Vivian ran her hands over the animal, calming it and looking for any wounds it may have suffered. "She's not hurt. I think anything that would make her rear would leave a mark, or a wound."

"She wasn't injured, that's the important thing." Chuck was glad to hear it. "You should get back inside now, Vivian. You can't be seen here."

Vivian ran back inside.

"We're under cover," said Casey. "Walker's alive, but out of it. Incoherent."

Casey stopped talking and started firing again, as Vivian ran out of the stables once more, this time with a riding cap on. She swung herself up into the saddle before Chuck could stop her.

"What are you _doing_?"

She looked down at him, determined and terrified. "Something."

"They'll kill you." Another shot punctuated his statement.

"No they won't." Vivian turned and pointed. "They'll kill _her_ , because she's not me. I'm the one person here they won't kill, not immediately, and I think we should use that."

He looked like he was trying to come up with a counterargument and failing.

She reached a hand down. "Are you coming, Chuck?"

He flashed, grabbed her hand, and swung up behind her as if he'd been born in the saddle. "Just don't die on me, please, the paperwork's awful."

Vivian laughed, and slapped the reins. "Hyaah!"

"Casey, we're on our way," he said, before the accelerating horse drove any thoughts beyond simply holding on from his mind. Such as, for instance, turning on his mike.

* * *

"Yes, Frost?"

"We just got the alternate signal from Mr. Panzer, Alexei."

Volkoff chuckled. "Escaped a holding cell already, has he? Very good. I expect to hear good news very shortly, Frost," he said eagerly, then his voice dropped, "Even if it is only the news of Miss Chandler's tragic demise."

"You were really looking forward to the wolves, weren't you, Alexei?" said Frost sympathetically.

He nodded, then remembered that she was on speaker. "Or some form of wildlife! Bleached bones just won't do." Half a billion really called for something… _special._

"LA is the smoggiest city in the world." Not a lot of bleaching possibilities there.

"You don't suppose they have any rats, do you?" he asked hopefully.

"It's a city, Alexei. It's got more rats than people, and probably in better health. But they take time, and even the Castle team should be able to recover the body before they can do much."

He made a little noise in his throat. That level of ineptitude _was_ too much to hope for. "Too bad we can't send Yuri." Solve both problems at once. That's what Frost should be working on, getting the Gobbler back, not this…trivia. _Damn_ Boris for all the trouble he was causing!

"I'll see what I can do to hack into the system, maybe I can get you some video."

That brought a smile to his face. "You're so good to me, Frost," he said softly.

"I'll only be a minute."

* * *

Chuck looked behind them. The two riders in their classic gear had not lost them, they'd simply left the trail to cut the distance. "They're gaining," he shouted over the pounding of Artemis' hooves on the packed earth.

"You're thinking going out into the open was a mistake," said Vivian, because that's what she was thinking. Chuck and his team were professionals! What business did she have being out here?

"Actually, I'm thinking we need to lighten the load," said Chuck. "Keep going. Don't stop for anything." Just like that he was gone, she didn't even feel him jump off. Her load halved, Artemis put on some speed, and Vivian took a look behind her. The two riders had fallen behind, but Mr. Charles was nowhere in sight. Had he fallen, had he hurt himself?

Either way, she couldn't stop now.

* * *

Frost used Panzer's signal as a starting point, backtracking through the network to find the originating server. For a moment she wondered if there was something wrong with their software, since the outermost firewall identified its domain as a Buy More sub-net. When she burned through that she realized the ploy for the work of genius that it was, the Buy More's own systems hiding her target under a profusion of mismatched software.

She was Frost. She persevered. She overcame.

"Welcome to the Castle Mainframe Interface," said the computer's speaker in a pleasant female monotone. "How may I help you?"

Voice-activated security? Since when? "What the hell is this?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Please identify yourself for access."

She had no files prepared. "Um…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Please identify yourself for access."

She hit the intercom for the main office. "Alexei, there's been a delay, it'll take a few more minutes."

"Very good, Frost."

"I'm sorry," said the computer. "I didn't get that. Did you say 'Mary could, Grost'?"

"Did I say _what?_ No!..." Who _built_ this thing?

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that…"

* * *

"' _Carina and Davis, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G'…"_ Carina stopped humming. At least that would have been more interesting than what she was doing, which was nothing. Was sex in a tree even possible? One way to find out…

The sound of pounding hoofbeats drew her out of her salacious musings. _Showtime._ At least, she hoped it was showtime. Vivian, and she was alone. Where'd Chuck go?

 _Sarah fell down and bumped her head, nimrod. Where do you_ think _Chuck went?_

The horse turned up the lane to the stable, and Carina lifted her rifle and took aim.

* * *

"Clear the room."

When Frost said to leave, you left. When the room was empty of people, she pulled out her scrambler and foxed any eyes that someone may have tried to plant. Then she leaned in real close to her speaker.

"Castle Mainframe, this is Mary Elizabeth Bartowski, code name Frost, override code zero-zero-zero-alpha-zero. Do you understand _that_ , you stupid machine?"

The computer understood something, but all the flashing lights in the world couldn't tell her what. "Greetings, Mary Elizabeth Bartowski," said the computer at last. "According to our records, you are presumed dead. We are sorry for your loss. Access is granted. Have a nice day."

* * *

Vivian looked behind her one last time, but saw no one following. Chuck must have done something, hopefully he was still alive to tell her what. She allowed Artemis to slow as they approached the lane, and turned towards home.

* * *

When the man strolled out of the stable, Carina heard nothing. "Guys, Boris is here but I'm getting no signal from Vivian. Her mike is off or she lost her earpiece."

"Do you have a shot?" said Casey.

"Not a great one. I'd be shooting over her shoulder." And she couldn't tell Vivian to move.

"Don't take it unless you have to. Wait for a better shot or–"

"Artemis is up!"

Boris flung himself back, away from iron-shod horse's hooves that were as dangerous as any sledgehammer to the skull. This put him clearly and cleanly in Carina's field of fire, and she fired.

Boris flew backward, his chest exploding in gore.

"Holy crap, she shot him," said Carina. If she hadn't been strapped to the branch she'd have fallen off in surprise. "Repeat, Vivian shot Boris! Shotgun to the chest."

"That'll leave a mark," said Casey. "We've got seven down out here, but we'll need a pick-up. My transport is for one man only. I've got our fearless numbskull here, and her fearless numbskull husband. Good thing I recognized his panicked flailing about as he stumbled out of the bushes or it'd be nine dead."

Nine? Oh. "You wouldn't try to run instead, Casey?"

"You think it would do any good?"

Sarah had chased her into a holding cell, and that was just for getting Chuck captured. "No." Carina started unbuckling herself. "On my way."

* * *

"What do you _mean_ , Panzer failed?" asked Volkoff, his voice hard enough to grind wheat. "The Chandler woman is still alive?"

Fortunately the cameras on the parking lot were not nearly as secure as the Castle Mainframe. They clearly showed both prisoners being loaded into a new transport. "I'm afraid so, Alexei. He got caught in a riot."

"A riot in a Buy More?"

"This surprises you?"

For a second he said nothing, then, "No. No it doesn't."

"Apparently the store manager pegged him as an instigator and tasered him down."

Volkoff laughed into the phone. "Today just wasn't our day, was it, Frost?" Or Panzer's, long may he rot.

"I'm afraid not, Alexei. Shall I continue after Boris?"

He let her change the subject. "No, leave that to Packard. You concentrate on getting Yuri back. With him at my side I won't need my lieutenants."

 _Good to know._ "As you wish."

* * *

"Did Boris say anything more about this key he was looking for?"

Vivian Vol–McArthur paused in the act of clipping her locket back around her neck. Then she continued, her head tilted down. "Uh, no, no he didn't," she said to his feet. "He just called me a weak, indecisive, girl."

"Well, one out of three ain't bad," said Chuck, smiling to his companions and to her. He took her hand warmly in his own. "Congratulations. I think you're well on your way."

"To where?"

"Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to be," said Chuck. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Even Casey shook her hand respectfully on the way out.

* * *

"Here you go, Mrs. Bartowski," said Chuck, sliding the ring back on Sarah's finger as they sat together in the back seat.

She admired it with joy. "No more Walker," said Sarah, kissing him. "Much as I love working with you, Chuck, separate names are too much of a price to pay." Her phone rang, and she checked the screen. "It's Hannah."

Chuck left her to it. He looked around. Casey was looking all taciturn, as usual, and he was driving, while Carina was…"Are you all right?"

She didn't smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just wondering what the weather's like in Monaco."

"We needed you here."

"Did you?"

"Absolutely," he said with complete sincerity. "You were the endgame, the final piece of the plan! No way Boris would come out of the woodwork unless he thought we'd all left Vivian alone, that's why I needed you to be there."

Carina looked back out the window. "Yeah, well, _she_ sure didn't need me."

Chuck put a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't say she did. I said we did."

"That's great!" shrieked Sarah, suddenly, and they looked at her. "Hannah's gotten engaged!"

Chuck's congratulations were enthusiastic, while Casey just grunted politely. "How'd it happen?" asked Carina, once Sarah had ended the call. It didn't take too long, Hannah was making the rounds. "Balloons, champagne, and a horse-drawn carriage at her favorite restaurant?"

Sarah shuddered. "Please. Remind me to tell you about my parent's proposal. Better yet, don't remind me. No, it wasn't terribly romantic at all, took her by complete surprise. They had a prisoner escape, but he ran into a riot at the Buy More and they caught him again."

Chuck's brows went up. "A riot in the Buy More?"

"That surprises you?"

For a second Chuck said nothing, then, "No. No it doesn't."

"Well, anyway, after it was all over, he says he hears something, and starts looking around. He moved behind her and by the time she turned around, there he was, on his knee with a ring in his hand! She said he looked almost as surprised as she was."

"Wow," said Carina, deadpan. "How…romantic."

"Yeah," said Sarah. "Like you would know anything about romance."

"I happen to have a very romantic soul, I'll have you know! The Ring ploy is my favorite scam!"

They all just groaned and shook their heads.

"What?"

* * *

Vivian watched them drive away, watched the dust kicked up by their vehicles settle. She took the locket from inside her blouse and looked at the inscription, "Love, Daddy."

She put it away again. She knew what she wanted.


	13. One Step Forward

**A/N** I never liked the whole proposal/wedding plot of S4. After S3 I felt like it was a given that C &S would marry, and making a whole plot about it was just make-work, especially bad when they had so much to do with the Volkoff plot and were wasting valuable time. I did, however, give it a bit of an acknowledgement starting here, with Chuck realizing he'd never actually proposed. It's a minor sidebar, as it should have been in canon, but it does have an interesting effect eventually.

The mashing of episodes continues here, and accelerates. The main plot from Couch Lock was okay but unmotivated, in canon. Chuck's discovery of Packard was purely accidental, whereas here they are connected to Frost in her current operation, and from there to Boris and the recently-concluded adventure, a much more plausible chain of connections. Much as I loved Coup d'Etat, I couldn't see any way for it to work in this season, but it was a good way to get a lot of characters off-screen for a while, and provide some needed comedy or tension at the right times. In addition we also have the appearance of Director Bentley, setting up the events from A-Team, which in canon were part of the second half of the season.

* * *

Packard lay back on a bed that didn't belong to him, bored. Frost had returned to Moscow days ago, leaving him and his team to look into the deaths of Christoph and the others on their own.

They weren't good on their own.

They tended to break things, which, honestly, is what they were trained to do, not all this detective crap. They weren't a proper cleaner team, being much better at leaving messes behind them. Not that that was a bad thing. All it had taken was one false bottom to set his men to looking for others, where 'looking' was rather loosely defined. Mainly T.I. smashed things and moved the broken bits around with his booted feet. Mac was more fastidious, but he was also slower.

Packard swung out of bed, stepping on the false bottom that was the cause of it all, enjoying the crunch of snapping wood. Idly, he kicked one of the pieces, just because he could. Several pieces moved as a unit.

That wasn't right. He reached down and picked up the fragment, lifting several shards at once, as they were all held together by something on the bottom. A piece of heavy duty tape layered over a piece of paper, paper with a set of numbers in a line. Like a set of coordinates without all the other symbols, one of several different possible sets.

He didn't need his phone app to tell him that one possible location was somewhere in Europe, but he pulled it out anyway to get a more precise fix. Somewhere in England.

* * *

"Roses or orchids? Those are my choices?" asked Ellie, stirring her coffee. "Am I the second opinion or the third? I don't even know this woman."

"Second," said Sarah, sitting opposite. "Hannah's a lot more like you than like me, in some ways. I have no problem being the main point of contact but _you're_ the best wedding planner I know."

"What about Casey? He did a good job on _my_ wedding…" For a second, Ellie's eyes glazed over, remembering the sight of her groom, the feel of the sand under her feet, the sound and smell of the ocean.

"On Chuck's orders. Plus begonias weren't on Hannah's list."

"But they were so pretty! _You_ liked them, didn't you?"

Sarah shrugged. _Not my wedding._ "If it isn't a gardenia, I don't have an opinion." She stroked a large petal from Chuck's latest delivery.

Ellie took a sip and nodded. "Understandable, you being a spy and all…"

Sarah stopped stroking. She looked from Ellie to flower as if one of them was a double-agent. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ellie's eyes got wide. "You mean you don't know about the symbolism of flowers?"

 _Why on Earth would I?_ "I…know that if Chuck sends me something that isn't a gardenia, he's mad at me," said Sarah. "I knew that if Bryce sent roses when I was expecting lilies, or whatever our code was for that mission, my cover was blown and I had to get the hell out."

"Oh my God…"

"Ellie?"

"The gardenia is the symbol of hidden love, like…" Ellie's hands fluttered in the air as she sought the perfect metaphor. "Like Romeo-and-Juliet style love. Chuck knew that. I always wondered why he sent you gardenias when you were already his girlfriend. I didn't get it until they told me about you, but it never occurred to me that you didn't know."

Sarah shook her head. "There was no agenda there, Ellie. Chuck knew that I liked gardenias the way he knew I didn't like olives, by watching everything I did and taking notes." Sarah looked smug at her husband's prowess, even then, while Ellie looked appalled at the lengths he'd had to go to, no matter how good he was at it. "My father didn't use them in any of his cons, and I like the smell." Not the most common flower, and its aroma made it even more memorable. Con artists don't want to be memorable.

Ellie sat back in her chair and frowned. "Poop."

"What?" said Sarah, fighting down an urge to laugh in her sister's face.

"Here I thought I was seeing this wonderful romantic story of secret protestations of love, sent under the very eyes of disapproving authorities," Ellie sulked, "And you didn't get it any more than Casey did."

The second pizza Chuck brought over didn't have olives. The second burger he brought over had all the extra pickles she could want. He only brought her the rose that one time, because Roan told him to. "I got the _message_ , Ellie."

Ellie smiled–she still wanted the story, dammit–and raised her mug. "Here's to the message, then."

Sarah touched her mug to Ellie's gently.

Ellie continued, "Besides, it's not like my brother was ever very good at keeping his feelings hidden. The only person worse than him is you."

 _Thunk!_ went the mug on the table, not at all gently. "You're kidding, right?"

Great, now she'd slandered Sarah's professional abilities. Ellie raised her hand placatingly. "Sarah, I know you're an agent–"

"Yes, I'm an agent, but every day we were together I knew I was crumbling. I could feel myself losing a little more, giving another little tiny iota of information to a human database," said Sarah, running her finger around the edge of her mug. "But Chuck? Chuck was a master! They're thinking of naming the technique after him at Langley."

"What technique?" said Ellie, confused.

Sarah slumped over the table. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get that one little piece of information from a subject when they won't shut up?"

* * *

John Casey sat at the bar, looking over Morgan's domain while Grimes wasn't around. The wait staff went around with their pitchers of water twenty percent less frequently than they used to. The bus boys were slower as well. His current Randomly Selected Patrons were mostly focused on each other, as they should be, but every now and then one of them would raise their eyes, suddenly aware of their surroundings. Not until the third such head's up did their server respond.

 _Much better._

"Adding to your skill-set, Colonel?" said a woman from behind him. She'd been watching him for the last ten minutes and he'd been wishing she'd just make her move already.

His surveillance completed, he turned to face her. "You were at the bar that night."

Her real face was still a mask. "Just as an observer."

"Why?"

"I have a project."

Like that meant something. In Washington, everyone who was anyone had a 'project'. "I've got one of those already."

"I can see that. Muddling thyme for the greater good is a waste of your abilities, Colonel. If you ever want to trade up, give me a call." She flashed her ID at him. "Director Jane Bentley, NCS."

That caught his interest. "What's the objective?"

She smirked, knowing she had him hooked. "That's need to know, Colonel. You tell me if you need to know. Until then–" She stood up and handed him a plain manila envelope.

"What's this?" said Casey to her back, as she donned her coat.

She pivoted. "Call it a gesture of good faith. We've detected movement abroad that will impact you and your team, probably very soon." She ran a finger lightly along the edge of the envelope. "The men in these images have every reason to want you dead."

They can get in line. "And you're just giving them to me?"

"Of course not, Colonel. I'll be expecting your call, if you survive. Have a nice day."

* * *

His name was Mackintosh, and he was having a terrible day. He hated the woods. He hated pretty much anything that didn't come with a plug attached to it, left him feeling useless. Well, not useless, exactly, but not in a place where his special expertise made him more special than anyone else. In the woods they were all more or less equal, except for T.I., who looked like he could take on a tree and win.

He'd much rather have stayed in Christoph's apartment, which was nice and homey as long as you didn't look underneath the false bottoms of his chest of drawers. Which Packard had, and of course he'd brought the numbers to his good buddy and subordinate Mac for interpretation, and so it was his expertise with computers that directly led to them standing here in the middle of the night.

What was so special about this place, anyway? Some estate in the backwoods of England, no bandwidth, no throughput, no connectivity to any parts of the civilized world. The lady of the house rode a horse for fun! What a hole. At least the pubs were good. Good English beer, with good, dull English people endlessly nattering over the good English gossip. Everybody at the party heard the shots that night, but what mattered to Packard's team were the very few people who heard the shots the next morning. Not handguns, not at that distance.

"Found something."

Oh thank God!

Mac and Packard came to him from different directions, to find T.I. kneeling next to a fallen tree and searching under it like some kind of giant bear looking for…whatever bears looked under trees for. T.I. held up a shell casing, reflecting brightly even in the light of their low-intensity flashlights.

"Rifle?"

The giant man handed his boss the casing. "Sniper."

"Behind a tree?"

The tree fell as the brute rose. "I didn't say he was a _good_ sniper."

Packard wasn't buying it. He flashed his light on the ground, picking up matted plants and torn earth but little else. "If he was a bad one there'd be blood everywhere. Spread out. He had to come here for a reason, which means he came from somewhere else. Find that nest."

They all headed upslope, one left, one right, leaving Mac in the middle, not that he knew what he was looking for, which was why they'd left him in the middle. He stepped over a root and stopped, his nose working. Something smelled real bad. He looked down.

Ashes. A small circle of undergrowth had been charred black, and his foot had stirred up the ashes, allowing some of the burnt odor to escape. Mac knelt in the grass, looking more closely at this evidence of man, and found a mostly burnt cigar butt lying on the edge. He held it up, sniffing at it. He knew that smell, loathed it, they all did. All the long way to the stockade he'd been forced to endure the stink of Captain Casey's cigars, and all the long days afterward he'd hated it and him.

"Packard!"

* * *

Morgan shook the dice and threw them on the table. "We have gotta be the most crap communicators in the whole world."

Chuck watched the board carefully. For Morgan, moving tokens and talking at the same time could be problematic. "Uh, what do you mean, buddy?" he asked, scooping up the dice for his turn. "You, me and Devon here, or men in general?"

"Me and Alex," said Morgan, moving his cards for no reason. "I think I'm speaking English, but somehow the words coming out of my mouth are never the ones I want to say, and even then, she doesn't seem to hear them right either, even when they're wrong. Nobody's as bad as us."

"I don't know, bro, there's different kinds of bad, aren't there?" said Devon. "Just this morning Ellie yelled at me for talking to her stomach for an hour. She's going a little baby-crazy, and maybe I am too. That's pretty bad, right?" He looked at Chuck. "Twenty-four, bro."

"Pff," sneered Morgan, dismissing the question. "You guys have an excuse. Married and pregnant, you're allowed to look bad and have fights." He pulled at his tie, a vestige of his day at the office.

Both the men in his audience stopped and stared.

"Not if you want to _stay_ married, buddy," said Chuck.

"Chuck, I love you, man," said Morgan as Devon took his turn, "But you have got to be the world's most unqualified person to be giving me this kind of advice. Don't look at me like that, come on! What was your biggest problem between you and the missus this whole last year?"

Chuck started to open his mouth.

"I'll tell you what it was," said Morgan without pause. "It was you two being _too married_. That's right: Too. Married. All that trouble you had was you trying to be worthy of what you already had. You two lovers were so star-crossed I'm surprised you even needed to propose!" He went back to fiddling with his cards.

Chuck shut his mouth, looking shocked.

Only Devon noticed. "Dude?"

* * *

Casey snatched up his phone before the first ring finished. "What news, General?"

"I'm afraid the intel from Director Bentley is on target, Colonel Casey. An entire team has already made its way to American soil, and is nearing your location as we speak."

"Dammit," he growled into the phone. He thought, hoped, he'd have more time. He didn't want to put everybody on alert without some kind of proof. "I have to get the team together."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, Colonel," said Beckman. "You'd better hurry, or you'll be late to your own party."

* * *

"You never proposed?"shrieked Morgan.

"Well, we were…panicked, we had…so I called my dad, and he…so we…and it was all very confusing." Chuck pressed his hands to his temples.

"Chuck, this is not good," said Morgan, shaking his head. "All this time I've been looking out for your Achilles Heel and here it is, right under our noses." Someone knocked on the door, three hard knocks. Morgan got up to answer it. "But don't worry , dude, we can fix this." He reached for the knob.

Chuck's phone started to beep, a strident pattern, the emergency code giving… _his own location!_ "Morgan, don't–!" he shouted, rising.

The door opened, revealing several armed men in full uniform standing ready. At the sight of Morgan, they all snapped to attention. "Buenas noches, Senor Grimes," said the leader, his voice rough and harsh. "Costa Gravas calls once more."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N** A little fun with the Costa Gravans before we get back to Packard and his crew. Coup d'Etat was one of the best S4 episodes, and has one my favorite Casey moments of the series. I still have to figure out a way to include it somewhere.

* * *

The avalanche sounded interested, but neutral. "In England?"

"Yes, Alexei," said Frost, equally neutral. "I left them in Germany, in Christoph's flat, but southwestern England was their most recent stationary location. They are currently in transit." Not back to Moscow.

Volkoff did not immediately respond to that information. He got out a small glass and a bottle.

Frost didn't shift her position as he poured. He didn't offer her any. He drank rarely, she drank never. _Vodka. Must be serious._

"Tell me, Frost, how much faith you have in this team of yours."

Packard and his men were dead, they just hadn't stopped breathing yet. "They aren't in my sight, so… None, sir. They're the worst sort of mercenary, they betrayed their country and their oaths for profit. The only things they haven't yet betrayed are each other, and I expect that's just a matter of time."

"Why do you think they betrayed me?"

Because Christoph had information she didn't have, and now never would. Information that sent them to England. _John Casey had to have been there._ A perpetual flame to these three moths _._ "I don't believe they've burnt any bridges yet, but clearly they found something that mattered to them more than their fear of you, Alexei."

"Then we must re-educate them, Frost." Alexei tossed back his drink, and smiled as it burned its way down. "If they return."

Frost bowed her head. "Understood."

* * *

"I think you can slow down now," said Ellie.

Sarah pressed a bit harder on the accelerator, keenly aware of the layout of the road she was flying over, and especially how much of it lay between her and her husband. "I'm afraid we're just going to have to agree to disagree."

"He sounded the all-clear!" Not long after Chuck's emergency alert had gone off, another alert had sounded, a nicer one, with his prefix code.

"Your point being?"

"That fast cars and pregnant women don't mix."

Oh. She looked over at her passenger. "Sorry."

" _Don't look at me!_ Don't look at me," shrieked Ellie. "Don't be sorry. Just be…slower."

Sarah's phone beeped, and she reached for her pocket.

"Tell me you're not going to answer that."

"Of course not," said Sarah, pulling the phone out. "That was Hannah's text-tone anyway, so I figure I'll just let you deal with it." She dropped her phone in Ellie's lap.

"Me?" Ellie looked down, then back up at the road. It didn't seem to be whizzing by quite so fast now, so she forced her hand to release its grip on her seatbelt so she could look at the screen. "She's asking about the gown. She hasn't picked out the gown yet?"

"That's the easy part," said Sarah. "Castle has a holographic outfitter, she can just design the dress around everything else."

"Noo," moaned Ellie. "The dress comes first, the dress is the centerpiece. I can't believe we spent so much time on flowers without even knowing what the they had to match."

Sarah snorted. "I got married in a combat suit, with powder-burns on my hands." For her, Chuck was the centerpiece.

"You are _not_ normal," said Ellie, typing furiously.

The car was silent for a little while, the only sounds those of the road and the air moaning outside. Then Sarah mumbled, "I know that." She wiped at her face.

Ellie noticed the motion, since it took one of the driver's hands from the wheel. "Are you crying?"

"Of course not," said Sarah with a sniff. She reached out and turned the vent on and off again. "Just the wind in my eyes."

* * *

Casey pulled up in front of the house just a familiar figure started walking up to the door. He rolled the window down. "Alex, wait!"

His daughter turned at the sound of his voice, and did as he asked as he scrambled to get out of his car.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, positioning himself between her and the house.

She noticed, of course. The FBI training course was only polishing those skills. "What's going on, Dad?"

"Chuck's emergency signal went off," he said, skirting the truth just a bit. "This may not be a safe place to be right now."

"Morgan's in there!"

Not quite the effect he was hoping for. "And I'm gonna get him out of there, while you stay in my car where it's safe."

She looked around. Either they were really good and really quiet, or…"Where's your back-up?"

He looked anywhere but at her face. "On their way."

She reached into his jacket and took his favorite pistol. "Nope. I'm right here."

"Alex–!"

Behind him, the door opened. Casey spun, shielding Alex from the armed man in the doorway.

"Ah! The Angel de la Muerte! We meet at last."

Casey went for his holdout.

* * *

Sarah eyed the house slowly as they drove past and parked around the corner.

"So what do you think?" asked Ellie.

"No sentries I can see."

"No, you goof. I meant the cake!" Ellie held up the phone so Sarah could see the picture, but then she got a glimpse out the window and recognized her surroundings. "Oh. We're here."

"And you didn't notice." _Thank you, Hannah._ "Stay here and talk about cakes, I'm going in." She checked her gun.

Ellie tapped a quick goodnight and handed the phone back. "Like hell I will. That's my brother and my husband in there!"

Sarah sighed, and opened her door. "Like brother, like sister," she said as she got out of the car.

Ellie followed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," said Sarah, tucking her gun in the small of her back as she walked back to the house. "If you're not going to stay in the car you can at least stay behind me. Hey!"

Ellie ignored her and kept on going. "Hurry up, Sarah. I'm your cover. What could be more natural than a woman coming home from a girls' night out?"

With no other choice, Sarah followed, every sense alert. _Isn't that Casey's car?_ Then she noticed the dark stain on the front walk. "Ellie, stop!"

Ellie stopped and looked down at her feet as Sarah moved in front of her. "Oh my god…" The front door opened and she looked up.

Chuck smiled. "Sarah, you made it," he said, as if that wasn't the plan all along. He walked out into the open and hugged his wife.

Ellie watched his hands drop and verify the presence of the gun, but then he untucked her shirt, draping it over the gun. _What the Hell?_

Chuck winked at his sister. "Come on in, you two. We've been waiting." Arm in arm, the loving couple led the way into the house.

Inside, Ellie found a lot more people than she expected. Chuck, Devon, and Morgan, naturally, their game unfinished, not even put away, just sort of shoved to one side. Alex, but Casey too? The alert, of course.

Which probably explained all the men in the green uniforms?

"Sarah, Ellie, allow me to introduce Senor Juan Pablo Turrini–"

"Chief aide to Generalissimo Alejandro Fulgencio Goya," said Turrini, as if that explained everything. He gestured into the living room. "The Generalissimo has sent some wine, the People's wine, and a gift."

"I thought the wine was the gift," said Morgan, holding a glass of something dark and red. "Sorry about the front walk, Ellie."

"If I hadn't caught you, you'd've spilled that all over Alex," growled Casey, his wine untouched.

"If you hadn't tripped me I wouldn't have spilled it at all."

"I didn't _trip you_ , moron, my foot just got in the way of your foot, that's all…"

Ellie shook her head. "You…mentioned a gift, Sr. Turrini. A gift for who? And why?"

Turrini held up a large silver disk. "The answer to all of your questions is here, Senora."

* * *

Morgan gaped in shock. "A weekend in the palace?" Morgan hated that medal. He didn't deserve it, and the presentation ceremony had almost been a disaster. They'd made him keep it, though, and after everything that happened he was mostly okay with it. If that Goya guy had just asked he'd have taken the vacation any day.

Turrini stiffened. "The People's palace."

Alex couldn't believe what she'd just seen. "Oh. My. God. A private jet–?" Private beaches. Luxurious private rooms. She turned and hugged Morgan tightly. Finally he was getting what he deserved!

"The People's jet," said Turrini.

Ellie turned to Devon, and clapped her hands. "Honey! Baby-moon!"

"The People's–" Turrini shook his head, and put a smile back on his face. "You are all welcome, of course. The friends and family of the heroic Senor Grimes could not find themselves in a better, safer, or more peaceful place in all the world."

Casey took a gulp of his wine, watching his daughter. "I'm coming too."

"Sarah, what do you think?" asked Chuck, grinning broadly. "We can put all those bikinis you bought to good use."

"All of them, Chuck?" Sarah shook her head. "I'll have to model them, and you'll have to choose."

Chuck's face went slack. "Choose?"

Casey whacked him on the back of the head, just to jump-start his brain. "You tell her she looks good in all of them, and then agree when she makes up her mind," he explained.

Turrini nodded, amused. "The wise man always defers to higher authority."

Heads rose all around.

* * *

With Turrini's men in the living room, and Morgan rewatching the video again, they were forced to stage an ordinary conference call from another room.

"I'm afraid not, Colonel," said Beckman. "A situation has a risen, that requires your specific presence, and that of your team." _Casey's_ team only as long as it took them to get away from Turrini.

Casey stiffened, but wasn't about to speak back to a senior officer.

Other people had no problem with that. "They've already accepted the invitation, General," said Chuck. "We can't just let our friends walk into a war zone unprepared."

Beckman sighed. "These aren't the 80s, Mr. Bartowski. It's not a war zone, unless you mean all the restaurant franchises that have started popping up down there. Costa Gravas is as stable as it's been in years. Your friends–and the Colonel's daughter–should be perfectly safe in their tropical paradise."

"We could send Carina with them," said Sarah suddenly. "We did sort of… _yank_ her away from that tropical paradise she was in, for that last mission." And she was none too happy about it, either.

"The opportunity is ideal," agreed Beckman.

Casey rumbled thoughtfully. "The only problem I can see is getting her in on it. Turrini's bound to get suspicious–"

From the other side of the door a shrill cry rang out. "Martin! The palace? I'm so jealous."

"You wanna come?"

Casey shrugged. "Or not."

* * *

Chuck and Sarah watched the plane rise into the air the next morning, just a little sad that they couldn't be with Morgan in his hour of triumph. Goya was not known for taking half-steps in anything he did, so Morgan's little tribute could turn out to be a full-blown national holiday before the weekend was out.

As they walked back to the car, Chuck asked, "You don't think Ellie was serious, do you?"

Sarah shrugged. "She's probably already started."

Chuck's face fell. "Poor Carina."

Sarah whacked him on the arm. "And whose fault is that? You're the one who called her Ellie's best friend."

"I had to say something," said Chuck, rubbing his arm. "Everybody in the room had a cover story except her. And besides, it's not like you told me Ellie was all obsessive about cakes all of a sudden."

Sarah snorted, then she gave in and started to laugh. "No, I didn't, did I? Poor Carina."

* * *

Chuck loved driving to work with Sarah. He loved stopping at the guard booth, he loved walking in the front door, especially when she had her arm linked with his and made a point of waving to everyone, even (and especially) the janitors.

No one looked at all surprised to see her there, with him, looking so happy. They were together, everyone knew it, and no one thought it was strange.

That was so cool. It wasn't _as_ cool at NSA headquarters, but that was only to be expected. Even the CIA's fairy-tale couple was still CIA, and they had appearances to uphold.

They outdid themselves today. The lady at reception, who'd known them for months, put them through every security verification they had, unsmiling, unapologetic. She made them wait as she summoned an escort, even though she knew they knew how to get to General Beckman's office. As they waited, Chuck noticed a greatly increased number of guards in the lobby. He and Sarah sat stiffly in the uncomfortable chairs, trapped in the grim atmosphere.

The escort made no sign he recognized them. "Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski, if you'll follow me." As he led them through the halls, none of the other NSA personnel they encountered even looked at them.

Not until they found themselves enclosed in an elevator did Chuck feel free to ask. "Mr. Clark–" not Bob, not today, "What's going on?"

For a second Bob Clark stared at the wall, as people usually do in elevators, but then he relented. "I may as well tell you, you'll find out soon enough. You'll have to, I guess." Even so, he paused, working up the nerve to speak. "Colonel Casey was shot and killed last night. He's dead!"


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N** The weakest thing about the Couch Lock was how unmotivated it was. The entire mission was based on Chuck happening to discover a photo of three men that happened to have a connection to Frost and to Casey, so they set out to trap them. I prefer my stories to be connected, front to back. The appearance of Goya's men unannounced isn't the same sort of thing, since a) it's a sub-plot, and b) it was funny.

* * *

A soft knock was her cue. "Come." General Beckman looked up as the door opened, her aide admitting her latest visitors, the only welcome ones of the day. "Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski, please come in. Thank you, Mr. Clark." Her assistant nodded and withdrew as the General's guests seated themselves.

Sarah came right to the point. "Is it true, General?"

Beckman nodded, her face grave. "Yes, Sarah, Chuck, I'm afraid it's true. Colonel Casey was intercepted and assassinated by a Costa Gravan hit squad last night as he left the home of a family friend. Neighbors reported shots fired–" she passed him several police reports, all of which presumably told variations on the same story "–and even though there were doctors present and the ambulance arrived very quickly, he was pronounced dead at the scene."

She passed a photo to Sarah, the body of John Casey, lying in a dark stain on the front walk. The blood, mercifully, looked like dark wine.

Sarah handed it back. "You said it was a Costa Gravan hit squad, ma'am?"

"Indeed. We were informed by another agency that Premier Goya's right hand man, Juan Pablo Turrini, was making an unannounced trip to the US. He spent the night at the embassy, which proves nothing. Fibers consistent with a Costa Gravan uniform were found on a thorn bush at the corner of the property, and several casings were recovered, consistent with the weapons known to be used by their military. He and his entire entourage have been PNG'd and went back to Costa Gravas this morning." She collected the documents from Chuck and closed the file on the whole affair. "Or at least that's the scuttlebutt."

Chuck smiled. "Congratulations on your death, Colonel," he said to the phone on the desk.

"This had better work, Bartowski," said the speaker, sounding a lot like Casey. "I can't use my Netflix account until this is over."

Chuck shrugged. "It worked for Goya, didn't it?"

"Yeah, it did, but I was the shooter then."

"So Turrini isn't allowed to have fun fake-assassinating you?" The speaker made a negative-sounding grunt as Chuck rambled on. "He did seem to enjoy it. I know, maybe we should have a war where everyone shoots blanks, just to let you guys get it out of your systems."

The speaker ignored him. "Any sanctions, ma'am?"

"A stiffly worded note. You're only a Colonel."

The speaker grumbled again as Chuck asked, "When's the funeral?"

"We arranged it for tomorrow afternoon, to make sure Packard and his team have a chance to hear the news and respond as we expect. They arrived yesterday afternoon, but with the saturation coverage of this brazen assault, they should catch up on current events quickly." She handed them their notices.

"'Cremation to follow'?" asked Chuck. That wasn't part of his plan.

"We have to force them to move while my hand is still a hand, numb-nuts."

Grave robbing? _Ew._ "Good thinking. Sorry about Arlington, though."

More grumbling, sounding a lot like "Better luck next time."

"You know, Casey, you're the only man I've ever met who's ever looked forward to being buried," said Sarah.

"It's not the burial," said Casey. "It's the place, the honor. Every man should live his life so that his death will be a tragic loss."

She thought of Alex for a second as Chuck gave her hand a squeeze. _Her_ death would be a tragic loss now, too. It wouldn't have been, once. "Mission accomplished," she said as much to herself as the man on the other end of the line.

"Don't say things like that, Bartowski! I'm not dead _yet._ "

* * *

Packard leaned over the back of the chair and stared at the screen, as if he would understand anything on it. "Is he really dead?"

"Absolutely," said Mackintosh. "A hostile foreign government, two rival agencies, local police and an unaffiliated medical team." He waved his hands vaguely over the paper trail, as if it would conjure up the spirit of Casey. "It's a perfect storm."

Packard pushed hard against the chair. "I hate that cliché." He gestured at the screen. "You know they could have cooked this up with that other agency."

"I'd believe the hostile foreign government first," said Mac. "Agencies in this town do not play ball with each other."

The selfish explanation was the right explanation, as far as Packard was concerned. "Costa Gravas isn't gonna play ball, either, not if it's Casey. You remember that time we were in Havana, selling him those fake nukes? I heard Casey was waiting in the walls in Goya's palace to kill him, the entire time." Both men had a good laugh over that.

"Where's T.I.?" A man that big was hard to miss.

"Out lifting logs," said Mac dismissively. The city was _his_ element.

Information gathering the old-fashioned way. Packard didn't appreciate being hooked into Volkoff until he wasn't. "You keep that up he'll kill you, and I'll laugh at that too. You got the details on the funeral?"

"Of course." After a goodly bit of head-banging. Whoever put the lid on that information knew what he was doing. "They're trying to keep it hush-hush, in case any of the Colonel's old enemies should show up and make a scene."

"At a funeral?" asked Packard. "That would be just plain rude." He went away to be clever with some C4.

* * *

On the road to Langley, and the Intersect.

"I've got to say, this is a refreshing change."

Sarah felt a lot of things, but refreshed wasn't one of them. "How so?"

"One step ahead of the bad guys, for once, instead of winging it and succeeding by the skin of our collective teeth? A mission where we're the trap-layers, instead of the trap-layees? Sign me up for more of that."

 _Over my dead body!_ warred with _You'll jinx it!_ , so her mouth took advantage of her distraction and started speaking before she could stop it. "Chuck, about the funeral–" _No, no, no!_ Sarah wished she had some of that tetrodotoxin for her own vocal cords, but it was too late now.

He couldn't have forgotten something, could he? "Is there a problem, Sarah?"

She shook her head. "No, I-I just wanted to say–" she made a sudden lane change, to give herself time to think of something she wanted to say that wasn't what she wanted to say. "I just wanted to say how proud I am of you, for creating this whole plan, and implementing it as smoothly and flawlessly as you have so far. I know we haven't reached the endgame yet, but I can't think of anyone who could have gotten Casey and Turrini to play nice when it counted." She took a deep breath. That sounded natural and unrehearsed.

"Liar." Chuck smiled at her gasp. "What you really wanted to say was 'stay in the hearse, Chuck.' You know I can't do that, Sarah."

Busted. "I know," she said unhappily. He was _that_ guy, but she was that guy's wife, the hardest job she'd ever had. "With Carina gone and Casey playing dead, we need you on site." Now that _did_ sound rehearsed, and very unnatural.

"And I'll have a full set of body armor on, and I think I could give the Intersect lessons in how to duck." He ran his hand over her hair. "I love you, and I would never want to cause you needless worry." He sighed. "The needed kind is bad enough."

"I can deal with it, as long as it's needed," growled Sarah.

 _Of course it's needed._ "It's Casey," said Chuck.

"I was hoping you'd say that." The car sped up again.

* * *

"Allow me to introduce my wife–" with his usual flamboyance, the Generalissimo spun and indicated a woman in a low-cut red dress as she approached. "The light of Costa Gravas, the woman behind the man. Señora Hortencia de la Corazon Goya." Everyone applauded politely as she pretended to be honored.

"Welcome to Costa Gravas, Señor Grimes," said the skank. First Lady? What do you call the wife of a dictator, especially when she was dressed like that and flaunting herself in front of your man.

Morgan took her hand, brushed a kiss on the back. "Thank you, Madame Goya."

 _Madame!_ That's a good word. Alex stepped forward and claimed Morgan's arm for herself as he stepped back.

"I apologize in advance if my husband should steal any of your women," said the skank– _First_ Skank, Alex reminded herself. The guys with the guns work for her husband.

As everyone laughed politely, Morgan covered Alex' hand with his own. "I'll keep a firm grip."

* * *

She was tall, blonde, and beautiful. She could outfight and outshoot anyone in the building, and they all knew it. At the sound of her confident stride approaching, men and women alike stood to one side, wishing they could be her, or be with her. Really, they were lucky she was gracing them with her presence in this dull and drab corner of the building.

Greta turned the corner and spotted her mark, tall and dark-haired, easy prey for her feminine–

The geek smiled, but not at her. He hadn't even noticed her. At the other blonde in the hall. Who was smiling back, with eyes only for him. "I'll contact you as soon as I have anything new to report, Sarah."

Greta caught herself against the wall and pushed back out of sight as her rival turned. Sarah freaking Walker? _No way!_ Footsteps approaching rapidly, Greta looked for–a water fountain! I'm saved!

Sarah rounded the corner, her situational awareness taking in Greta's presence and dismissing it at the same time.

Greta watched her go, water spilling gracelessly down the drain as she considered her options. Only one thing to do, really. She was going to have a few words with Mr. Montgomery.

* * *

Sarah continued walking, a destination in mind but in no hurry to get there. Most likely she wouldn't have to.

"Agent Bartowski," said someone genially from behind her in the cross-hall. "Good morning."

She turned, already smiling. "Good morning, Muffin."

* * *

"You set me up!"

Roan kept his calm façade with some effort. "You seem vexed, my dear."

Greta leaned over his desk. "If I'd been three seconds faster I'd _seem_ like roadkill! The last person who got her husband in trouble hid in a locked cell for a week! She broke the building!" Greta pushed off the desk and whirled around, looking for something to hit in the instructor's office that wasn't the instructor.

Roan took out his notebook, and made an entry. "A valid point." He put the notebook away and stood, looking at her mildly. "In my defense, I would like to say that when I made the assignment she was involved in an operation in England. It never occurred to me she'd bring him along. And, for the record, it was only about _three_ days."

She wasn't about to mollified by an apology, no matter how sultry and mellifluous the tones in which it was delivered. "I demand a retest!"

He nodded. It was a fair request. "And you shall have it, if you so desire. Or as an alternative, I'd be very willing to recommend you for a little operation that has come to my attention. I will also make a list of invalid test subjects and put Mr. Bartowski's name at the top of it. I've never seen a more unseduceable man." He pulled out a piece of paper and started writing.

"You're passing me?"

"Not exactly." He pinned the paper up on his board. "Think of it more as a clerical error in your favor. If you and the other Greta I'm sending find favor with Director Bentley, then you will find favor with me. Otherwise, see you next term."

* * *

"Upload complete," said Manoosh's voice over the speaker. "How you feeling, Chuck?"

"Ellie, your voice has changed."

Manoosh laughed. "She'll kill me if I don't at least ask."

"You have the scanner on, right?" Chuck started typing, a stack of dailies waiting but a higher priority in the queue right now. He didn't really care about the answer since he already knew the answer.

"Gotta have my fix."

"Well, then you know how I'm doing better than I do." _There we go_. An old black and white photo, some newspaper clipping from the bad old days. Three men, wanted fugitives, more importantly the enemies of his friend and therefore his enemies as well. He'd know everything there was to know about them before the day was out.

Chuck flashed.

* * *

"We'll be there," said Muffin.

"I know he'll appreciate it." Sarah's watch started beeping, long and shrill.

"You know, once a jani–" But Muffin was talking to air.

Roan Montgomery's office door opened, and Greta stepped through. She turned and offered Instructor Montgomery her hand. "I won't let you–"

Something tall and blonde slammed into her in passing. She smacked into the door jamb and fell unconscious into her mentor's arms.

Sarah didn't notice. She had someplace to be, and it wasn't where she was.

* * *

Manoosh had the door pegged open, because he was smart.

"What?" she shouted, a bit loud without the door's _thump_ to take the edge off.

"I don't know," he replied, a bit high-strung himself. He pointed at the exploding Christmas ball that was the scanner at that moment. "He just started spiking, I have no idea what's going on."

"Did he say anything, or write anything?"

Manoosh went to the desk, and turned the monitor around. "Just this." On the screen was a blinking cursor, next to a single capital 'F'.

She pressed the button on the intercom. "Chuck, speak to me."

Silence.

She looked to Manoosh. "Where is he?"

Thermal scan showed a man sitting in the only chair the room had. "He hasn't moved."

"Do the download," she commanded. "I need to get in there." The door wouldn't open while he had the Intersect.

Manoosh had been well conditioned by Ellie. "Download commencing."

Sarah went back to the intercom. "Chuck, look up!" Just in case.

Sarah pushed through the door the second the light turned green. Chuck sat in front of the main screen, his fingers idle on the keyboard, his gaze downcast. Sarah lifted his head, forced him to look at her, see her. "Chuck, what happened?"

"It's too late." He tried to look down.

Not. "What's too late, Chuck?"

"The download," he said, as if it were obvious. "You took the Intersect away, but nothing can take the knowledge away. It's too late, I've already seen it."

Sarah looked at the screen, the grainy photo of three grainy men. "What have you seen? Tell me, Chuck."

"Those men. Packard and his crew," said Chuck, his voice flat. "They're murderers, thieves. They're part of a secret prison system run within Volkoff, where his enemies just disappear." He reached out a finger and touched the 'F' on his screen. "They work for my mother."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N** Lots of stuff going on here. Morgan doesn't get to sacrifice his life for his team but he gets his hero moment quelling a rebellion with a paperback. Agent Swanson gets a second cameo, to good effect. Casey may not have gotten his wonderful wheelchair moment here but he does get a couple of good scenes. And one of my personal favorite lines from Sarah.

* * *

"Frost is alive?"

"Yes, General," said Chuck. "And apparently very, very rogue." He couldn't look at the screen anymore, couldn't look at them looking at him. The floor was a nice color.

"I don't believe it," said Casey. "Frost is no traitor, she can't be."

"Since when do you know my mother?" snapped Chuck. _He_ didn't even know his mother, it seemed.

"You know a commander by his troops, and a craftsman by his product," said Casey to the top of Chuck's head, the only part of him he could see. "You and Ellie are the product. I've never met your mother but I already know her pretty damn well."

Sarah gave her husband's shoulders a squeeze, while mouthing _Thank you_ to her partner.

The gloom started to lift, but Chuck resolutely pulled it back down. "Well, thank you for that vote of confidence, Casey, but I saw it with my very own Intersect."

Casey made a rude noise. "Give it a rest, Bartowski. How many times in the bad old days did you send us haring off on some wild goose chase because you 'saw something in the Intersect' that you didn't understand and got completely wrong?"

"Not 'completely wrong', Colonel," said Beckman. "Those wild goose chases often turned into your greatest successes." She sighed, looking up. "And my greyest hairs."

"Wrong enough, General, and Chuck can't help but be compromised now." Not his fault. "So if it's his Intersect versus mine, I'll take mine."

"You have an Intersect, Casey?" asked Sarah.

"It's called common sense, Bartowski. It's not as flashy, but it gets the job done."

"For all our sakes I hope you're right, Colonel," said Beckman. "Personal issues to one side, the idea that we might be facing not just Volkoff, but Volkoff with an agent of Frost's caliber on his side, is truly frightening. Manoosh?"

"Yes, General?"

"I imagine there will be no more uploads today?"

Ellie would skin him, and dip him in brine. "No, General. Given Chuck's–the Host's–emotional state…"

"I understand." _Damn you, Frost._ "The capture of Packard and his men is now more imperative than ever. We must know everything we can about Frost's relationship with Volkoff. Chuck, it's your plan, make it happen." He nodded, still not looking up. Beckman looked at Sarah. "We're counting on you."

* * *

The tall blonde entered the office and saluted. "Captain Victoria Dunwoody, reporting."

The tall brunette stood and saluted back. "Director Jane Bentley, NCS. What happened to you, Captain? I heard you were in Inducement training."

Dunwoody touched her cheek, gently. Her blackened eyes were still puffy and her nose swollen where it had broken against the door jamb. "I was assigned…Agent Walker's husband as part of my final test. She was supposed to be in England." As good a story as any, and better than the truth.

Bentley nodded. "Marriage has mellowed her. Walker destroyed a van and half of Langley the last time."

Dunwoody grit her teeth. Walker was the villain in her cover story. _She's not_ that _badass._ "Just a few doors, ma'am."

"Whatever. The point is, I don't need mellow agents here. Do you understand?"

She smiled. _My turn, Walker._ "I understand perfectly, ma'am."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" said Sarah as they headed for their car. With no uploads in the offing, Chuck pretty much had nothing to do there, and Sarah, well, she had her marching orders already.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Yes, and I can't say I like it. You look like me." Like a spy. Like nothing could hurt him because nothing could be allowed to hurt him. The open book she'd fallen for was closed.

"Oh, you mean you just found out your mother's a bad guy too?" He clicked the button on his fob and opened his door before he noticed she wasn't on the other side of the car. He looked back. "Sarah?"

His wife wasn't there. Someone else was. "Don't ask about my mother, Chuck."

Did he look like that? _Tell me I didn't do that to her, please._ He knew he had, though, and he knew how. While flailing about in his own misery he'd stuck his foot right into hers, whatever it was. "I'm sorry." Could any search, any resolution be worth this?

Her frozen face thawed. "Don't be."She walked up and stroked his cheek. "It's not like I've told you everything there is to tell about my family. I can't."

No secrets, no lies. She would tell him, if he asked, but he wouldn't ask. "But I should be sorry, Sarah," he said, catching her trailing fingers in his own. "I've let my search for the person who left me bring pain to all the people who would never leave me."

"It doesn't matter." She tugged on his hand, pulling him in closer, and kissed him. "We're family, Chuck. Your pain is our pain."

"Not anymore," he said, holding her tightly. "When Dad sent us that message, I really hoped to find my mother again. But now I'm not afraid _for_ my mother, I'm afraid _of_ her, and what I'll see if I ever do find her. That's my pain now, and there's a simple way to end it."

Sarah pulled back. "Is my man running away?" As he started to fumble out a reply she overrode him. "Because that's what that sounded like." She started jabbing him with her sharp, sharp nails. "End the search–" _Ow!_ "Close your eyes–" _Ow!_ "Bury your head in the sand, but believe you me, Mr. Bartowski, I've had my fill of ostrich, thanks to Carina." She stopped pushing, her victim, that is, her husband pinned against their car. She grabbed his hair and kissed him again, passionately, violently. He looked dazed when she finished. "I don't want a Chuck that would try to spare me pain, I want the Chuck that I would take all the pain in the world for."

Chuck stared at his wife, panting, smiling.

"We have to finish what we started, sweetie, otherwise it'll just fester. Don't let the past poison our future."

With a sudden move he flipped them around, pinning her against the vehicle. He captured her gaze and leaned in close. "The names Bartowski. Charles Bartowski," he said in a bad Scottish accent.

Sarah smiled in sudden recognition. "There you are!" She held up the car keys she'd lifted from him with consummate skill while he was distracted. "Now, I'll drive. You have work to do, rethinking your devious plot."

* * *

Morgan stepped out of the shower, and immediately wondered why he'd bothered taking it in the first place. He'd thought DC in August was bad! Maybe he should just wear the towel.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Hold on," he said, running for his suitcase. With frantic speed he threw on whatever tops and bottoms fell into his hands first. "Coming!"

He pulled the door open and there was Alex…and only Alex. Whoever she'd hired to put that bikini on her had really skimped on the paint. He lowered his eyes. At least the very thin wrap on her hips was cloth. Very…thin…Eyes! Look at her eyes.

"Hey Morgan," she said, drawing out the syllables of his name in the way that drove him wildest. "Oo, I like the shirt." She stepped closer and reached her hands into the loose sleeves. "I can reach under it so easily."

Morgan threw himself backward, and not just because she was tickling him. "Alex, don't. What if Casey finds out?"

Alex…flowed into the room after him. "My father is thousands of miles away, Morgan. But right down that trail there's a private beach." He didn't look where she was pointing, mesmerized. "For private showings." When he didn't move she lowered her hand to the knot in her wrap. "Or perhaps you'd like it here instead."

A private showing in his private room. _BeAGentlemanBeAGentlemanCaseyWillKillYouBeAGentleman._ He swallowed and nodded. `"Beach is fine."

* * *

The miles flew by, Sarah driving while Chuck was on the phone. "That sounds like a plan, buddy." A bad plan. "Just make sure that however you do it, Alex is there and knows what's going on. Yeah, you're welcome. Have fun for me." He ended the call. "He was just so grateful to Carina for warning him to take the proper wardrobe." Also Alex' wardrobe, which was a lot skimpier than usual, but somehow Chuck didn't think Sarah wanted to hear about that. "He wanted to thank her." A double helping of Morgan gratitude and Carina in a sarong…

"That could have gotten awkward."

Still could. This was Morgan, after all, and his obsessive over-planning, a bad habit he'd picked up from somewhere. "Even more awkward than watching Casey try to put on his old Marine uniform." Chuck winced at the memory.

"If it's that tight maybe we can do without the paralyzing drug."

Chuck grunted out a laugh. "Um, no. But…hmmm…paralyzing drugs. That gives me an idea."

* * *

Packard couldn't believe it. "You _what_?"

Mack grinned as he scarfed down another slice of pizza. "I released the funeral arrangements on all the back-channels. We can't be the only ones who want to see the Colonel dead."

* * *

Sarah answered her phone. "Yes, General?...Out of breath?...Yes, I guess so, I was outside and didn't have my phone…Chuck's plan? We emailed the revisions to you a while ago…Did you check your spam filter?...Oh, good. Yes we'll be glad to go over it with you. Absolutely. You're welcome." She put the phone down without a goodbye and rolled over in the bed. "Meeting in half an hour."

Chuck smiled. "I can work with that."

* * *

"Mr. Bartowski, we've gone over this before. You are not an agent."

"I know, General."

"Yet your revisions make you not only present, but the centerpiece of the operation."

"He has to be, General," said Sarah. "It's always harder to capture than to kill. Only the Intersect can do what needs to be done, if Chuck's plan is to succeed."

"In spite of the danger?"

Possible harm to his body versus guaranteed harm to his heart and soul? "Absolutely."

Chuck took his wife's hand. "We're committed, General. Anything else puts Casey at unacceptable risk."

The Colonel stood a little straighter, but kept his peace.

Beckman nodded. "You've really thought this through. You're willing to put your teammates in harm's way, and you're willing to put yourself at risk to protect them. I'm impressed, Chuck." She flashed a quick glance at all the windows. "The mission is a go."

* * *

Chuck was assembling his body armor when the phone rang. Sarah kept going, making note of all the pieces she needed to add, as Chuck answered it. "Morgan! Hi, how's the fiesta?...A statue? Get out!...Really, seven feet tall and solid marble, that's…"

Sarah stopped to listen.

"I knew you had it in you…no, that was just surprise, that's all, marble takes a long time to…Of course I want a picture..Morgan, I can't hear you, is that cheering?"

It didn't sound like cheering, too high and shrill. Another sound, loud and low, cut through the noise like a saw blade, and the screaming returned louder than before.

"Is that gunfire, Morgan? Morgan?"

* * *

The day of the funeral dawned cloudy and grey, the skies themselves threatening to weep at the passing of a great man. Which would have mattered if the funeral were being held in the morning, but it wasn't. The early afternoon was both bright and sunny, and the line of mourners moved rapidly, filling up the church.

"Who are all those guys?" said Packard, looking the line over from a few blocks away.

"I only recognize about half of them, but it's a pretty bad half."

"I can't tell the mooks from the agents," said T.I.

"That's good," said Mack. "That means they can't either. We slip in and by the time they know anything's wrong we'll be gone again."

Packard nodded. "The mission is a go, gentlemen. Let's go get our gold."

* * *

Chuck held up the hypo. "Here you go, Casey. The back-up hypo is going right here." Into a specially sewn pocket by his hand, where a partially-paralyzed Casey could reach it and re-inject himself if necessary.

A young lady came up to the casket. "Agent Bartowski?"

Chuck looked at her. "Agent Swanson, good afternoon." He held out a hand.

She took it. "You remember me, I'm flattered."

"One of my few pleasant memories of the NSA," said Chuck. Then he whispered, "Actually, more than a few, but I can't really say that in case someone else from the CIA side of the aisle should overhear." Casey kept his eyes closed, but Chuck could see them rolling anyway. "You must be looking for my wife, though. She's the agent, not me."

"You'll do, Mr. Bartowski. General Beckman told me to let you know that the situation in Costa Gravas isn't as desperate as we'd feared. The insurgents hold the palace but the premier and his guests have managed to escape into the jungle. No Americans appear to have been taken hostage yet."

Casey opened his eyes, but Agent Swanson had her back to him and didn't notice.

Chuck noticed. "Yes, uh, thank you, Agent Swanson, that's very good news. Keep me in the loop."

"Sure thing, Mr. Bartowski." She walked away.

Chuck looked into Casey's eyes, the only part of him that could move. "We couldn't tell you, Colonel. I'm sorry. Adrenaline neutralizes the paralytic, and you need to be paralyzed for the plan to work. You have to stay calm." He checked his watch–a few minutes early–and raised it to his mouth. "Let's get started.'

* * *

Chuck sat in the front row, his seat the only one left open on that side, while the other pew sat empty. As the service commenced, mourners continued to make their way up to the coffin to pay their last…whatevers. Casey watched through slitted eyes as Mack came into view.

"Ow!" Chuck winced. "Did that guy just stab him with a pin?"

The pain almost made Casey open his eyes, but the toxin did what the toxin was supposed to do. He didn't even grunt.

A few minutes later, Casey heard a familiar voice. "Here you go, Colonel. One last cigar." Casey prepared himself for the worst, and got it, as T.I. pushed the glowing end of a lit cigar against his wrist.

Chuck cringed, and Sarah gripped his hand tightly. Almost done.

As T.I. walked away, he didn't see Casey take a deeper breath, his arms flexing. His fingers were still too numb to be much use, but his larger muscles were responding.

More footsteps, and someone laid something across his chest. Casey recognized the scent. A lily, one of Packard's favorite jokes. The casket started to shake, as the man above him made little wheezing sounds. _Little weasel better not be crying._

No, the bastard was laughing.

* * *

Packard turned, pulling a gun in one hand and his little surprise in the other. As expected, the room was full of agents, but the thugs in the room would make quick work of–

No one moved. No chaos erupted. A room full of felons and they all just sat there as the agents took aim at him. "Did you really think we'd come to Casey's funeral unprepared?" he shouted.

Mack and T.I. rose, the Feds moving to acquire their new targets, but even that didn't inspire any of the chaos Packard needed for his plan to succeed.

"You're all under arrest," said Sarah.

"You should have stayed with Frost," said Chuck.

"That bitch. Always kept us sidelined." Packard smirked. "I think we'll let Volkoff go down with that ship alone."

"You've got nowhere to go."

"Wanna bet?" said Packard, brandishing his other weapon, a detonator of his own making.

Chuck–the Intersect–fired.

"Aah!" Packard clutched at his arm, the little tranq dart imbedded in the crook of his elbow. His hand numbing, head swimming, he struggled to get his thumb to the trigger.

At the back of the church several flash-bangs detonated, full of sound and fury.

Chuck ignored them, already turning his sights on Mack, and firing again. The agents surrounding T.I weren't as lucky. Given how many surrounded him, it was virtually certain some would be facing the wrong way, and some were. He was surprisingly quick to take advantage of their incapacity, hauling one into Chuck's line of fire as he fired another dart, and using another as a human shield to the altar.

"Hold fire!" said Sarah.

"Yeah," said T.I. mockingly. "You might hit _me_. You, pick that up." He indicated the detonator with his foot.

"Yes, sir," said Kimberly, exactly as the book said she should do in a hostage situation, and she crouched to pick it up, her captor crouching behind her.

Casey heard her voice, her fear. So young to his ears, just like Alex. He reached through the drugs for his angry center.

When they were upright once again, T.I. hooked his elbow around Agent Swanson's neck, hand open. "Give." She put the device in his hand and he put his thumb on the second trigger."You don't follow me, and this'll all be over."

"We can't let you go back to Frost," said Chuck.

T.I. laughed. "I don't want to, that bitch is poison. I've got other plans for my gold." He raised the detonator.

"Chuck!" yelled Sarah.

Chuck took aim, and so did T.I.

Casey rolled over, second syringe in hand. The needle plunged into the traitor's back. Casey's hand pressed on the plunger as the casket tipped over, delivering a dose of paralyzer, right over his spine. Not much under normal circumstances, but these were far from normal.

T.I. couldn't pull the trigger. When Agent Swanson pushed out of his choke hold, he couldn't even hold on to the detonator.

* * *

Beckman was less than pleased with the outcome. "Mr. Bartowski, the CIA doesn't have the money budgeted for repairing church floors."

Chuck's couch was crowded today. Casey was still a bit wobbly and they insisted he stay with them until he fully recovered. "I know where they can get several million in gold bullion, General." He held up his hand. "That should cover it."

Beckman looked somewhat mollified at the idea. "We'll take that under advisement, Colonel. At least none of the 'borrowed ' convicts escaped. In fact, several of them thanked us for the show."

Chuck shrugged. "Prison life can be pretty dull. I figured we'd get some willing to be partially paralyzed in exchange for the privilege of seeing Casey dead, I just didn't expect that many."

Casey smiled.

"It was a good touch, though," said Sarah. "Really sold the con."

"Moving on," said the General, "The intel on Frost is welcome but inconclusive. More concrete data is needed than the words of three disgruntled traitors, but another team will have to be assigned to that mission."

Casey jumped into that opportunity. "Permission to deploy to Costa Gravas, ma'am?"

"Absolutely not, Colonel. None of you are uncompromised, and none of you are field-ready at this time. The situation in Costa Gravas is also still very fluid. Trained diplomats are en route help contain the situation. We'll keep you apprised." The screen went black.

Casey grunted his displeasure. Or he might have said, "Great." It was hard to tell.

The front door opened and Morgan strolled in as if he owned the place, pulling Alex along behind him. "There they are, I told you they'd be here." He looked at them all, dressed in black. "Hey, who died?"

Ellie and Devon were hand-in-hand, white-knuckled, their smiles a little forced. Carina brought up the rear, shaking her head with a smile.

Chuck launched himself from the couch, swept Ellie into an embrace. "Guys, you're here! What happened to you? How'd you escape?"

 _Group hug._ "Escape?" said Devon. "They gave us an escort, bro."

Sarah was a little bit slower, but she still got her hugs. "We heard you were in the jungle, fighting insurgents."

"I hate insurgents," said Casey, standing. He and Alex did a little hugging thing of their own, while Morgan orbited from a safe distance.

"Carina and Alex were wonderful," said Ellie. Chuck led his pregnant sister over to the couch, and hustled to the kitchen for whatever refreshments he could rustle up. Devon sat with his wife, while Carina threw herself into a chair with her usual abandon. "Soldiers everywhere, but they saved us all, and the General took us out of the palace with him."

Casey almost smiled, but there were people around.

"Not that it helped," said Carina. "Goya's protective detail were all in on it, handed us right over."

Casey hated traitors even more than the usual brand of insurgents. "How'd you get loose?"

Carina waved a hand in front of her, disclaiming all responsibility, and pointed elsewhere.

Alex smiled and tightened her grip on Morgan's arm. "He was so wonderful. He quelled a revolution with a paperback and a breath mint."

"A paperback?" asked Chuck, coming back in with whatever coffee they had ready, with more brewing.

"A breath mint?" said Sarah, bringing a chair over from the dining area.

Alex waved a hand in front of her nose. "Most people are hesitant to speak truth to power." She sat in the last chair, with Morgan perched on the arm.

"That must have been some book, buddy. What was it?"

Morgan blushed. Alex replied, "101 Conversations Before I Do. We were practicing."

Practicing what? "I do?" said Casey.

Morgan paled. " _Before_ 'I do', big guy, before. Long before. Years before."

Casey grunted, giving his daughter an 'I told you so' sort of look. "Truth to power, huh?"

"Truth to power is one thing, Casey," put in Carina. "Truth to girlfriend's father, totally different."

That got a laugh, but Ellie only smiled. Chuck noticed, but at that moment his coffee machine beeped, so he got up again.

Carina followed him into the kitchen. "What's up?" asked Chuck, knowing how much she hated being in such domestic surroundings.

She reached into her bag. "I brought you some souvenirs." She handed him two necklaces.

Chuck flashed. Not necklaces. "Costa Gravas is nuclear?"

Carina made frantic shushing gestures. "Was." She gestured to the living room where they were all recounting their adventure in detail. "They didn't know. Well, maybe Alex but not the others and I didn't want to tell them."

"How'd you get these?"

"Morgan really is quite eloquent, in his own way. Once Goya and Goyette got all kissy-face no one even looked at _me_."

Chuck grinned at her. "So you single-handedly disarmed a nuclear nation?"

Carina blushed. "If you want to put it that way…"

"Oh, I must, I must." He put the keys in his pocket. "Call Beckman, use the bedroom TV."

Chuck watched her go, then looked at his family. Ellie, laughing again, so effortlessly a couple with Devon. Morgan and Alex, who had to work at it, and the spies who came in from the cold. Sarah looked over at him. She knew something was up, but she'd trust him to handle it.

All of them, his family. Truly he was blessed. What more could any man need? Frost and Volkoff would have to be dealt with, somehow, but Beckman was right, let someone else handle that mission. He had enough to do, gathering cheese and crackers for an unexpected party.

His phone rang. When he pulled it from his pocket the screen said 'Unknown Caller'. "Hello?"

"Hello, Chuck. It's…your mother."


	17. I Love Terror

**A/N** The beginning of the great arc for this season. Practically all of this chapter fits into a single scene-change in the canon episode.

* * *

"How did it go, Frost?" Volkoff was alone in the room, working on a puzzle, a little downtime from running an international criminal empire. Frost had gone off to LA, to negotiate a sale personally, since the capture of Sofia had reduced his ranks. This item was special enough to warrant his best.

"We had to abort," she said, sounding surprised. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but the Castle team has become a competent adversary. They had the meet site staked out. The next available meet is in DC, in two days time."

"You said they had a new AIC over there," said Volkoff, who heard everything she said even when it didn't look it.

"That's what I heard, but their agent roster hasn't changed, and no one got promoted."

He didn't raise his head at the correction. "You'll figure it out, Frost," he said, sounding confident and unconcerned, almost blasé. "Anything else of pitch and moment?"

"Packard and his men have all been captured, Alexei," Frost reported at her most neutral. She could never be sure how he would take any news. Without her there, she couldn't tell how he would take anything.

Alexei didn't look up from his crossword. "Just as well we never trusted those bungling incompetents with any operations of real worth." He looked up, and smiled at her through his webcam. "Good call there."

"I'm not so sure about that, sir." 'Sir' was always good. "From the information I've been able to gather, I believe their plan had some merit. I may have underestimated them."

Volkoff looked up again, scowling this time. "I'll have none of that, Frost. Don't go putting yourself down because greed motivated those…" He paused in sudden confusion. "What's another word for idiot?"

In spite of the _non sequitur_ , Frost rose to the challenge, as usual. "Uh…dunce, cretin? Moron?"

"Ah, simpleton, that's it," shouted Volkoff joyfully, writing in his puzzle. "Now, where was I? Right. Those idiots may have surpassed themselves for greed's sake, but they did get caught, let's not forget that."

"By Mr. Charles," said Frost, looking a little unhappy.

Volkoff put down his pen and disposed of his paper, as he did all things when they ceased to serve or amuse him. "Mister Charles." His rumble had a sibilant note to it, like sand in a tornado. He turned his full attention to the monitor. "How many times have I heard that name, Frost?"

"Twice, that I know of, Alexei." She watched him carefully, wondering how many times it had been for him. She wasn't his only source of information, by any means.

"That's too many. Marco was loyal, Packard was greedy, and he defeated them both." _And_ _Boris was ambitious,_ but Volkoff was willing to let sleeping Borises lie. He had far larger concerns. Mr. Charles now knew about Vivian, and wanted Frost. That couldn't be allowed to happen. Even getting rid of him would be a risk. "You'll have to kill him."

Frost shook her head. "I don't want to kill him, Alexei."

Was even Frost betraying him now? "You don't?"

"He's too good, too successful. He's kept you from taking your rightful place in the world." Frost leaned close, in the monitor. "I need to _destroy_ him."

* * *

Chuck stood in his kitchen, paralyzed. Shock? Fear? Surprise, or longing? All of those, none of those? He reacted on instinct, spinning away, moving back into the isolation of the kitchen. With one hand holding the phone by his ear, he raised the other, fumbling to press the little stud.

"I need to see you," said his mother, bringing silence to the outer room as both Sarah and Casey turned as one.

* * *

In the bedroom, Carina paused in mid-sentence, her hand going to her earpiece. She didn't need it, but she'd felt naked without it, down in Costa Gravas, and not a _good_ naked, either.

"Agent Miller, what's the matter?" asked Beckman. Rogue nukes, even disarmed, were a matter of the highest urgency. Anything that interrupted their recovery had better be critical.

"Someone's talking on our comms."

* * *

Chuck turned in the shelter of the kitchen, saw his partners standing by, as always, his friends and family behind them, curious and concerned. He made a hand gesture, then pressed the stud again as Sarah and Casey went to check the grounds front and back. "Is this some kind of joke, Mom?"

Ellie paled.

* * *

"He called her 'mom'," said Carina. Was this the woman she'd spent months gallivanting all over the world to find? Must be a 'son' thing, certainly the little bit of her voice that she'd heard didn't have Carina all that motivated to mount up. Distant and demanding, not a trace of warmth or affection. A spy's voice.

Beckman scrapped all of her intentions. Not something 'critical' in the grand scheme of things, but to this team…"Frost?" No way they'd let this go to another team now. On the other hand, somehow Chuck was able to make being compromised work for him, and they were all compromised as hell.

Carina nodded. "Idiot, you don't have time for that," she muttered, distracted by two conversations at once. She looked at Beckman. "She wants him to meet her in a park, one hour."

"Frost is in Washington?" Beckman considered her logistics. This rogue agent was clever, cutting the time so close. She couldn't possibly deploy backup in time.

Carina laughed, staring into space. "Tell no one? A little late for that, should have said that right off."

Beckman suddenly had to imagine the kind of contortions Chuck must be making to do what he was doing, and made a note to have comm broadcasting ability built into all agents' phones.

Carina continued heckling the air. "Oh, yeah, he's gonna come alone. Not."

"Not even for you, Mary," thought Beckman. _Especially not for you._ When it was clear from Carina's behavior that the call had ended, the General toggled her own mike. "Everyone, meeting in one minute."

* * *

Frost put her phone away and checked the target site again. Not that she expected Chuck to do anything except what she told him to do, but the difference between her and a lot of dead agents was that they hadn't secured their meet site at least once.

* * *

Beckman's eyes boggled when the screen lit up, but only for a second. Eight people gathered around the couch, somewhat more than half of them bona fide members of Team Bartowski. Fortunately they'd all signed all the paperwork they'd need to sign already, otherwise this would have gotten sticky. "Good evening, everyone. Chuck, my understanding is that your mother has contacted you, and demanded that you meet her in a nearby park in one hour, alone, for an unspecified reason. Is that correct?"

"Yes, General."

She wondered what kind of heat Chuck was prepared to take. "What are your plans to proceed?" _Look at them squirm!_ All was not happy in the Bartowski household tonight.

Chuck the Analyst stepped up to the plate. "I'll take the meeting, General, but not alone. Sarah will go with me as my backup." He paused, having gotten the easy part out of the way.

No surprises there. "And the rest of your team?"

He did what he had to do. "She had my phone number, General. I can only assume she has me under some kind of surveillance. The rest of my team will escort potential hostages and non-combatants out of harm's way, until it becomes clear that any danger is past."

Beckman noted the unhappiness with that decision on a lot of faces, not just agents' faces. Tough. "I concur, Mr. Bartowski. Colonel Casey and Agent Miller will escort your friends and family to reasonably secure facilities and stand guard until the situation is resolved. _You_ will do your part to make sure it is resolved in our favor, or at least not against us."

"Yes, General," said Sarah.

"Dismissed."

The second the screen went black all the civilians started getting ready to go, but Casey turned to Chuck. "You get killed, Bartowski, I'm gonna shoot myself and come after you."

Chuck drew back, wide-eyed. "Wow, that's incentive."

"Don't worry, Chuck," said Carina, standing to get her coat. "I'll take your in-laws home." She fluffed her hair over the collar. "That way Casey will have to choose between coming after you and leaving his daughter and Morgan alone, together, in an undisclosed and secure location for God knows how long…"

"Enough!" shouted Casey. He turned his glare on Morgan, while Ellie moved in on her brother as if he wasn't already planning to call her ASAP.

Carina flashed Casey a demure-yet-cheeky grin. "Just saying." She looked over to Ellie and Devon. "Ready to rock and roll?"

* * *

Sarah ran down the checklist before she allowed Chuck to leave. "Body armor?"

"Check. And a bulky coat to hide the fact that I'm wearing any."

"Tracker?"

He sighed. "All three." He could swear he still hurt where she'd shot the new bio-chip into him.

"Tranq shooter?"

A miniature blowgun up his sleeve, good for one shot. A Janitor named Babyface had one and Chuck decided he liked the idea. "Yes." He tipped his hand up, and a dart flew into the ceiling. "No."

Sarah helped him put on the spare. "FRODO Junior?"

"Yes. You know, these fake fingerprints really itch."

"You noticed that, did you? Maybe if you put them in gloves like Carina suggested, that wouldn't happen."

"Lightbulb," said Chuck, in lieu of snapping his fingers. "You know, if I put these in gloves…"

Sarah shook her head in wonder. "I knew you'd think of something. Okay, let's go."

"Hey wait a minute!" said Chuck. "What about you?"

"What, you mean my thermally-opaque bodysuit, matte body armor, government issue sidearm, night vision scope, signal tracker, and multiple braces of knives?"

"Um…yeah, those."

"I'm good." Sarah opened the door. "Let's go meet my mother-in-law."

* * *

Frost watched the car as it drove up to the parking lot. Only one person got out, walking from the car to the nearest picnic table. As she expected, he sat on the table itself, something he'd been doing since he was old enough to climb up there. She turned her vision on the woods around the picnic area, the logical place for watchers to hide. Nothing human-sized appeared, but with the trees and bushes that meant very little.

Phase one was complete. She pulled out her phone.

* * *

Sarah was in position long before Chuck ever got there. She'd driven them to the entrance very early, and gotten out to move stealthily into her position behind a tree. Only when she was set did she signal him to drive into the park, his hands barely touching the wheel. She listened as Chuck spoke with his mother, his phone equipped with a spare watch, placed so he could press the stud while holding it normally, in case she was watching. _No 'in case' about it._

Something moved into the open on Chuck's far side. "Look to your three o'clock."

Sarah raised her scope, and got her first live look at the woman who defined her husband's life by her absence. Average height for a woman, definitely recognizable from the photos she'd seen. Very much in control of herself and her surroundings.

"Meet me by the playground."

 _Dammit._ The playground had no cover. The slide was the best she could hope for. Hopefully the visual chaos of the area should make it harder to pick her out.

* * *

Frost watched the playground, not any piece in particular but the pattern as a whole. The area was deliberately a place of patterns with an appearance of clutter and confusion, attractive to a child's mind, less so to a spy on the job. At night the colors were muted, the shapes still, and a person watching carefully could see shadows that weren't really shadows at all. Female, another one. Tall and blonde. _Oh, Chuck._

A mother's work is never done.

* * *

Something went click, and it wasn't a twig.

"And who are you?"

Sarah could have said a lot of things. Your daughter-in-law. Chuck's wife. But the voice was Frost-y in more ways than one and that put her hackles up immediately. She'd sounded like that once herself. "Wow, I didn't even hear a twig snap. You must have been doing this a long time." Chuck was nine when you left. You don't get to talk to him like that.

* * *

"You're calling me old." _Aw, such a sweet little thing, has it learned to walk yet?_

"Not old," said Sarah, dropping her scope. Frost had to look at it, if only to determine it wasn't a threat, and when she did, Sarah had her gun in hand. "Just slow."

Frost upped her assessment of her opponent, but didn't drop her guard or her gun. "Government-issued sidearm. What are you, CIA? FBI?" Not that she expected to get an answer this time either, not if either organization was training its agents to any kind of standard.

"Why did Volkoff send you here?" asked the blonde.

CIA. Of course. "Jumping to conclusions, are we?"

CIA didn't buy it. "Oh, I think my conclusions are pretty justified."

Let's see if she can see through the truth. "I am here because I need to see my–"

Then she was seeing him. Tall, like his father. Kind eyes, gentle soul. Motor mouth. Some things never change. "I told you to come alone."

"Yeah, about that, well, technically I did come alone. Let me explain." He turned to the blonde. "Sarah, this is my mother, Mary Bartowski." He turned back to his mother. "Mom, this is Sarah. Sarah Bartowski, my wife."

The blonde–Sarah shook her head, made her blonde hair dance _Ta-Da!_ and then Mary noticed the ring on her left hand. Oh.

"Please don't kill each other."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N** A big part of what I do in this series is filling in the gaps in canon, if I think the storyline is a strong one, and there's a lot of behind the scenes work here. Chuck was much more of an ensemble show than the producers ever let it be, and the others on the team have a great deal to contribute. There are also a few things they left out, like the charm bracelet, and at least one thing they should have made a bigger deal of, but didn't.

* * *

His wife?

 _He was nine! He was her baby, she still read him fairy-tales before bedtime!_

Stop that.

She hadn't read him anything in twenty years. Hadn't read anything that wasn't a mission report. She'd deliberately kept herself apart from him and his sister, refused to know anything more about their lives than the driest, dustiest facts and figures could tell her. No emotional content was allowed, for fear that it would break her. As it was breaking her now.

His wife?

 _This is a mistake._

* * *

Sarah watched the older woman's eyes, not the gun pointed at her. The eyes were the best way to know when and where the enemy was about to pull the trigger, or whether the mark was buying the con, but they were just eyes. She'd never believed that the eyes were the windows to the soul, until she met Chuck. Now she knew better, but old habits died hard.

How little his mother resembled her son.

Her eyes were blue, not warm, loving, chocolate-y brown. Clear but hard, like her own used to be but much more so. Yet her own had never looked like those, not in all the mirrors in all the hotel rooms she'd ever flopped in.

This woman was his parent but was she really his mother?

"Great," said Chuck. "Just great. I can see the…" he moved his hands back and forth, distracting her. "…connection already. BFF…facebook buddies." Frost surprised Sarah by taking her eyes off the target to glare at her son. "I'll shut up now."

Sarah stepped up, knowing how little Chuck could defend himself against the women in his life. That was _her_ job. "Did you honestly think he would come alone?" she asked, with a double helping of amused condescension.

Frost tried for some affronted motherly condescension of her own. "I thought maybe he would trust me."

"Okay," said Chuck, not looking at either one but surprising them both, "Considering that you left me when I was, oh, I don't know, nine years old, and I still don't know if you're good or bad, I think I have every right to have a mother issue or two right now."

* * *

 _This isn't working._ The last thing she needed right now was a pissy little boy, talking back and saying no just to prove he could.

"You're right," said Frost, lowering her gun, apparently giving up the contest. "You're absolutely right."

"Thank you, thank you," said Chuck, sounding vaguely surprised. He turned to his wife, still braced to fire, and put his hand on her gun, pushing down. "See, no shooting necessary. None whatsoever."

As Sarah's arm went down to her side, her charm bracelet slid down from inside her sleeve, coming to a stop on her wrist.

Frost stared, not really hearing as her son started blathering on about something or other. Her bracelet, on the wrist of this little…wife. That's what she'd left it to him for, after all. All grown up. He really was–she looked up at him, and there he was, arm around the little woman, talking about bakeries. "Chuck!"

He wound down. "Or we could stay right here in this creepy dark playground."

Creepy? Dark? What kind of spy was he? They lived in the dark, and creepy was just a matter of perspective. After all the things she'd seen, or worse, done, this empty lot was a breath of spring. Dammit, she'd missed her moment, and now he was going on about chocolate, and even worse, his tenth birthday. "Chuck, stop! I don't want to know anything about you."

* * *

One dark, creepy briefing later…

Sarah drove. Chuck sat next to her, his fingers steepled before him as if in deep thought, meditation, or prayer. Really it was the fastest way to remove the tranq-coated fingerprints, short of tweezers and a mild acid solution.

He looked he might have preferred the acid right now. "Is that what this all boils down to, Sarah? Months of searching, and the only reason she comes to see me is to set up a meet? She knew about Carmichael, but she has to know Carmichael is dead. Do you think she knows about Mr. Charles? Why else try to get him to pose as the buyer?"

For someone who specialized in seeing the bigger picture, he sure could wallow in the details when he had a mind to. Not on _her_ watch. "No, the reason she came to you is because you are the only person she could trust absolutely with a weapon of this magnitude." _Assuming it really exists._ With his fingertips glued together she couldn't take his hand, but she did her best. "I know how she feels."

He started moving his hands, peeling the false fingerprints off. It couldn't have felt pleasant but he didn't show it. "What about Dad?"

"Not if she's serious about giving the Atroxium to the CIA she wouldn't." Her voice got soft. "And she may think he's dead, too. Maybe she had a video from him, same as you did."

"He knew how to contact her? He knew where she was all that time?"

"I said 'maybe', Chuck. It could have been a one-way blind drop. All we really know for sure is that she knows that you have the Intersect." Which would be bad enough, when they told Beckman. If they told Beckman. It would be almost treason not to tell, but possibly outing a fellow agent if they did. "Was she there when you did that first download?"

He watched as pilled-up fragments of plastic fell into his lap, shreds of an unused identity. "In the house? No. But she hadn't left us at that point. She was away a lot on missions, but she always came back to us. She had a lot more missions after that, though."

Sarah knew better than to ask where.

"I have to call Beckman," said Chuck, moving on.

* * *

"Thank God," said Casey, when the all-clear was given. "Grimes, time to go."

"You can go on without me, big guy," said Morgan, curled up far too closely to Alex as they scrolled through his photos of the Costa Gravas trip yet again. Casey'd already gone through them once, but once was enough.

He lifted Morgan off the couch by the collar. "First of all, Grimes, not in my lifetime. Second of all, this isn't some college dorm room. This is a secure FBI training facility, and our temporary security pass just got revoked."

In the locked privacy of his Crown Vic, far from anywhere, Casey said, "We need to talk about my daughter."

"You can let me out here," said Morgan, reaching for the door handle.

The car accelerated, the doors locked, and Morgan's seatbelt tightened. "I'm beginning to think you might have something to offer."

Morgan started to breathe again. "As a boyfriend?"

"No, as a photographer. Who picked the outfit?"

"That was Carina's idea…"

Casey grunted. _Thought so._

"But I want to tell you, big guy, I was a perfect gentleman. I would never disrespect Alex in any way."

Casey eased up on the seatbelt. "Relax, Grimes. I know you wouldn't."

Morgan rubbed his neck where the edge of the belt had cut in. "You do?"

"Yeah." Casey turned to look Morgan in the face, without slowing the car down a bit. "First of all, you live in completely justified terror of what I would do to you if you ever hurt her." He looked back at the road. "Second of all, I saw your photos."

Morgan mopped his sweaty forehead with his tie. "They _were_ pretty PG-13…"

"They'd be banned in thirteen countries, just from the outfit alone. But they were in a reasonably public place, and I checked the timestamps. You didn't have time to be anything _but_ a perfect gentleman. Good work."

His phone rang.

* * *

"Good evening, Agents," said General Beckman. "It's late so I'll keep this brief. Preliminary follow-up data is supporting the intel received from Agent Frost. We'll have everything we can find on Dr. Wheelwright in the dataset for tomorrow's upload. Pending the results of the Intersect analysis, I will approve the mission."

Sarah shifted in her seat. "Who will take the meeting, General?"

"Mr. Charles will, of course."

 _No!_ "Chuck is not an agent!"

"Agent Bartowski, this toxin can shift the global balance of power. We must get our hands on it before our enemies do. Agent Frost has specifically requested Mr. Charles' presence at this meeting, and we dare not do anything to upset her applecart. Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, General, quite clear." The tone of her voice made Carina shudder.

"Good. Now, assuming we will need him, Mr. Bartowski has some level of acting experience, and he will need some coaching from the rest of you in his role. All that remains is to select a venue."

"How about Grimes' restaurant?" said Casey. "We've already got the staff in place."

Morgan looked wide-eyed at him. "Wait, Casey, what you mean, my staff? You've got CIA in my restaurant?"

"Colonel Casey, what is Mr. Grimes doing there?" asked General Beckman severely.

"We were holed up at Quantico, ma'am. On our way back now."

"We'll discuss this breach of protocol in the morning, Colonel, but, since he's already up to speed…Mr. Grimes, your country needs you, or more specifically, your restaurant. Can we count on your cooperation?"

Morgan leaned closer to the phone. "You'll have it, General." He'd just have to swap shifts, and not tell his boss.

"Thank you. Good night all. Chuck, I'll expect your report first thing in the morning."

Casey ended the call from his end. "You stepped up, Grimes. I like that."

Morgan laughed. "Of course I stepped up, dude. It's the least I could do, after you and your CIA guys got rid of my little alien problem."

Casey sighed. "Think nothing of it."

* * *

The day dawned fair and clear, the weather fine and calm. Morgan was yawning, as his remarkably efficient staff set about creating an outdoor café area where none had existed before, surprisingly unhassled by local law enforcement, considering they weren't zoned or licensed for such a thing. They'd even set up a station for the new blonde maitre d', outdoor variety.

Sarah looked good in glasses, but then she looked good in anything. Or in nothing, but Chuck was a problem solver at heart and he found her various outfits delightfully problematic. "Table for Mr. Charles," he said, as he approached the station, already wondering how they could acquire that outfit for her closet.

Sarah was professionally polite as she led him to his carefully rigged table. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Hmm, yes," said Chuck quietly. "Perhaps you can help me figure out why Volkoff would be going to all this trouble when he could make just as much money legally, selling that holographic laptop of his."

Sarah rolled her eyes, like a beautiful woman hit upon yet again would, and walked back to her station.

Her husband watched her go with appreciation, muttering, "It's a serious question."

"Some other mission, moron," growled Casey in his ear. "Remember to sit with your back to the wall. Your mark will be there any moment, so get established. You have to control this meeting."

* * *

Alexei Volkoff cursed as he checked all his options. That damned Mr. Charles wasn't facing any of the security cameras Frost had hacked into. Hopefully she'd make the show worth the while.

* * *

"Your wine, Mr. Charles," said Carina, looking entirely too good, even in her server's uniform.

"Thank you, doll," said Mr. Charles, leering at her. The wrong role for her, thought Chuck. Wait staff are supposed to go unnoticed, that's what Casey always said, but no one could fail to notice Carina. On the other hand, she kept Dr. Wheelwright nicely distracted. The chime of Chuck's glass against his jolted the man back to alertness. "Cheers."

A fast black car spun up to the curb, and a woman got out.

"Incoming," said Casey.

Sarah spotted her easily. "What the hell is _she_ doing here?"

Chuck ignored it all. They were the agents, his team. They would handle it, whatever it was. Then he looked up, and saw his mother approaching. _Crap._ It was no acting challenge to look less than pleased. "Miz Frost," he said, his strong accent oozing Southern…something. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

His mother looked…stunned, but shook it off quickly. "Toasting already?"

"Drinkin' and dealin' are some of the finest pleasures in life, that's what my daddy always said," said Mr. Charles. "Y'all did some fine work here."

"I know," she said, taking a seat uninvited. She poured herself a glass, and asked, "What are we toasting to?"

Dr. Wheelwright said, "The negotiations are going quite well."

"Well, here's to smooth transactions, then." She tapped her glass to his, but when she went to toast with Mr. Charles she unaccountably missed, spilling some of her wine on his jacket. With a cry of alarm, she picked up a napkin and daubed at it.

Chuck grabbed her hand and took the napkin. "Don't worry about it," he muttered in dark tones.

"Oh, but it's my job to worry about things, Mr. Charles," said Frost brightly. "Like the fact that you aren't who you claim to be." At Wheelwright's sudden nervous twitch, she said, "He's CIA. This is a trap." Before Chuck could stand or even move, she stood, drew her pistol, and shot him in the chest. He flattened against the wall, and sank to the ground.

Not that they bothered to watch. Frost grabbed Wheelwright by the hand, and turned to find them facing a sea of guns. "Don't fire!" she shouted, holding up a glass bottle full of blue liquid. "Shoot me and everyone for blocks around dies!"

The agents looked to Sarah, who shook her head. They backed off, and Frost herded Wheelwright back to her car as Sarah went to her fallen husband. "Chuck!"

He coughed, groaning as she pulled him a sitting position. He pulled his shirt apart and fingered the hole in the bullet-proof vest she'd made him wear. "She shot me, Sarah." He held up a deformed bullet, lodged very near his heart. "My mother just shot me."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N** Once again, canon doesn't have our heroes investigate a possible chemical weapon inside a containment unit. The only time Casey was shown using anything remotely like an adequate safety procedure was when the device in question was a decoy. Once again I fixed that, not that it helped, but at least this time the whole team got dosed and not just Chuck, and they didn't all look like idiots.

This is also the beginning of the almost-brotherly banter between Chuck and Manoosh, and the first mention of the Project, which I needed at the far end of this story.

* * *

The sleek black car sped through the streets of DC, to the third nearest parking garage. Her son's team–her son had a team!–had to have the plates and all from this car recorded, but the camera on this level wasn't working. They could switch here to a new vehicle and no one would know. She hadn't even fully stopped before saying, "Out."

"Yes, I am," said Wheelwright, flinging the door open. "The Americans know. You've ruined everything!" America would pay for his toxin, of course, but only to maintain the status quo. Other nations would pay a lot more to upset it. He walked away as fast as he could, but didn't make it far before his leg gave out on him and he fell to the ground. The tingling of the tranq dart spread rapidly, but not so fast he couldn't hear her walk up to him. He just couldn't stop her rolling him over. "What–?" _–_ _are you going to do?_

She gripped his tie and pulled him up with effortless strength. "I'm going to teach you the real meaning of fear, Doctor."

* * *

Post-mission debrief, in a not-so-quiet Quiet Room.

"It was the right call, Agent Bartowski," said General Beckman. "Until we know the properties of this toxin more fully we can't take a chance."

Between the shooting of her husband and the betrayal by his mother, Sarah still looked ready to kill. That blue liquid may have been colored water. It may have done nothing more than leave a stain on the sidewalk. Or not. And she had to let her go…her duty got harder every day. "Yes, General."

Beckman continued, "On the upside, we now can be much more confident regarding Agent Frost's loyalties."

"Her loyalties?" said Chuck, amazement dripping that such a word could ever be applied to his mother. "She helped Volkoff's pet mad scientist escape with a nerve agent!"

Sarah smacked the table for emphasis. "And she shot her own son!"

"Take 'em off and untwist, Sarah," said Carina. "If she'd really wanted him dead she'd have popped him in the head."

"She couldn't have missed at that range," added Casey. "But she deliberately aimed for a spot she knew was protected."

Chuck flipped the ice-pack over and pressed it against his chest, grimacing. "Remind me to thank her."

Sarah's anger ebbed in the face of her husband's pain. She stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders. "Don't be bitter, Chuck. Of course you trusted your mother. In spite of all the lies and deceit, you still manage to genuinely trust people. It's what I love about you."

He looked up at her. "You don't love my dashing good looks?"

"That would be me," said Carina, raising a hand. "I'm the superficial one."

"I'm more interested in the computer in your brain, Mr. Bartowski," said Beckman, reining in the frivolity, once it served its purpose. "We need you back on line as soon as possible."

"Two fugitives and a dangerous weapon on the loose," said Casey, shaking his head. "Go team."

"Are you feeling up to it, Chuck?" asked Ellie.

Chuck threw the ice-pack on the table. "It's not like I have a choice, sis. We're behind the eight-ball here."

Ellie nodded, accepting her brother's word. "I'll get started on the upload, then. Manoosh has been data-mining, hopefully we'll have something good for you."

"Great, sis," said Chuck. "Let me know when you're ready."

"Kind'a pointless if she doesn't, don't you think?" said Casey as Ellie's inset screen winked out.

"They're called social graces, Casey," said Carina. "You should learn some. You might need them some day."

"When that time comes, Agent Miller, you shall teach him what little you know," scolded Beckman from on high. "Meanwhile…Colonel, Agent Bartowski, I suggest you review traffic cams and whatnot. Agent Miller, since you're still dressed for it, return to the scene and look for whatever clues may have been left behind. Dismissed."

* * *

"What was all that about, Frost?" asked Volkoff. When she was away he couldn't sleep, and given the number of time zones between them it's just as well he was up now."You said destroy. I could have had him shot at any time."

"If you want him you can have him, Alexei." Her voice sounded dismissive. "That little puppy wasn't Mr. Charles. I used to know his father. The CIA must be pretty desperate for agents to put _him_ in the field."

She didn't usually waste bullets on drones like that. "You shot him anyway."

"Using the toxin on him wouldn't have had nearly the same effect, and besides, I was being kind."

He couldn't recall seeing a 'kind' side but he knew her 'unkind' side was pretty messy. "Kind?"

"Let him have a moment of glory before he trudges off to some hole in the wall."

Volkoff laughed. "He'll think of you fondly as he scratches his fleas." His joviality faded. "Speaking of fleas, what of the good Doctor?"

"I switched to plan B."

Her 'B' plans were…unkind. "He has my sympathies."

* * *

"Hey, Martin."

"Carina, hi! What are you, uh–" He wasn't so glad to see her that he let her shut the door, though. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "Nothing the cleaner team hasn't already done."

"Oh," said Morgan, "That reminds me." He opened his lower desk drawer and pulled out a glass, inside a plastic bag. "I saved this from their table, it's the one she was drinking from."

"What for?"

"I thought you guys might want to dust it for prints, or check for poisons."

How cute. "We know who she was, Martin."

"Ah, but do you know who she was pretending to be?" He grinned triumphantly when her expression said no. "Huh? Huh?"

"Whatever," she grumbled, taking the glass just to get him to stop smirking. She leaned against the door jamb and grinned. "So tell me, did you let Casey see the photos yet?"

* * *

"Manoosh?"

Ellie stood to one side, let her assistant have the comm. "What's up, Chuck?"

"I just flashed on _Classics of the Horror Film_ , More _Classics of the Horror Film_ , _Son of Classics of the Horror Film_ , and _Classics of the Horror Film Part IV_."

"Knew you'd like those."

"I haven't seen most of these movies. A little spoiler warning next time, is that too much to ask for?"

"Sorry, dude," said Manoosh, actually sounding a bit sorry. "But you know what they say. Mission first."

"Grumble, grumble."

"Complain, complain," said the other nerd, laughing. "Look at it this way. When you finally do see these movies, she'll be burying her face in your shoulder, not the other way around."

"Sarah doesn't do face-burying."

"She will when she sees Matango, Fungus of Terror. Some of those flicks are pretty cringe-worthy."

"Ah, at last I understand! They make the movie so bad that making out is an emergency measure to not see it."

"Exactly."

"That ever work for you?"

"No. Usually she just went home."

"You didn't follow her? Make sure she got there all right?"asked Chuck, with plenty of _wink, wink, nudge, nudge_ in his voice.

"Nah, I watched the film. I mean, come on, it's a fungus of terror, for God's sake."

"Manoosh, I beg you, let my sister set you up."

Ellie took that as her cue to leave the room. Sarah and Casey had taken over Manoosh's former cave, now that he was allowed free rein of the lab, so she went where the sane voices were.

"–every bus station, subway, and traffic light camera within a mile of the restaurant, and we still don't–oh, hi, Ellie."

Multiple screens were flashing in front of both agents, but Ellie couldn't imagine that they were actually seeing anything in them. Probably some software looking at it, possibly Chuck was seeing it too. "No luck, huh?"

"This is just part one," said Casey. "Then we start pulling up the rocks, until we find out which one they're hiding under."

Ellie's phone rang. She backed out of the room to answer it. "Hello?"

"Babe, you gotta come home," said Devon, sounding panicked. "The Eagle has landed."

"The who has what?" asked Ellie. Who was the Eagle this time? Suddenly she thought she knew. "Devon, are you all right?" She lowered her voice. "My mother's not there, is she?"

He got awfully quiet, too. "Not your mother, El. _Mine_."

Oh God. Honey Woodcombe, early as usual. Went straight to the house and was probably already cleaning it. Still, at least she wasn't a fugitive aider and abettor. Ellie found the thought strangely comforting. "I'll be right there," she promised him. He sounded like he was freaking out a little. "Thanks for warning me."

"Just get home stat."

Honey couldn't have picked a worse time to get in, Chuck needed family around him right now, but that family was more than just her, still hard to believe after twenty years. She allowed herself a moment to listen to that family, that team, do what it did best. Ellie quickly said her goodbyes, grabbed her coat and flashed a reminder to Manoosh, to do the download in time. The more stressful the subject, the shorter the upload periods she would allow, and she couldn't think of a more stressful pursuit than this one.

* * *

One quick drive home later…

 _Target acquired._ The woman in the black sports car smiled behind her binoculars.

* * *

Ellie turned in alarm as the speeding sports car suddenly veered toward her, but to her surprise it stopped right in front of her. "Get in," said Frost loudly, pointing a pistol at her.

"Mom?" Ellie couldn't believe she was seeing this. "Are you crazy? First you abandon us, and then you come back and shoot Chuck? Am I next?" She flattened her shirt against her bulging tummy. "This isn't a bulletproof vest, you know."

"Don't be silly, sweetheart, this is just for show." Frost tilted the gun to show Ellie the slot where the magazine should have been. "Your husband is watching."

 _And panicking._ For once he'll be glad his mom is there. "Why should I get in, then?"

"No reason," said Frost, shrugging. "I can always come inside with you and have a long chat with your mother-in-law instead."

Ellie got in the car. In her picture window she could see both Devon and Honey as well, shocked and horrified, but neither of them stupid enough to attempt a rescue. She flashed a quick 'telephone' gesture as she opened the door. Even if Honey called the police, after the fiasco with Shaw last year they'd hand the case off to the right people.

The car sped off and Ellie fumbled for the seatbelt. "Don't forget to press your emergency signal," said her mother casually, putting the empty gun down. "You're being kidnapped, remember?" She waited until Ellie had pressed the stud firmly. "That's my girl."

"Mom…"

"So, how far along are you?"

* * *

Chuck was just beginning his prescribed rest period after the download when the alarm came in. Without his sister there to override him, he jumped out of bed and raced down the hall. "What?"

"It's Ellie," said Sarah. "She's activated her emergency beacon. We're tracking her now."

"I'll load up."

"No you won't," said Manoosh, standing behind him.

Chuck turned on the younger nerd. "What are you talking about? This is Ellie! I have to help save her! Load me up."

"Sorry, Chuck, I can't," said Manoosh. "You know as well as I do that the upload needs to be encoded first. Even if I start it now it'll be at least an hour to finish, but that's with a trimmed dataset, and I'd have to trim it first."

"Well, then, what are you waiting for?" said Casey.

Manoosh ran off, and Sarah turned to her husband. "We're going after her. You may not have the Intersect but we still need you to run the op, so get running."

Chuck grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"What do you _mean_ , Chuck really is Mr. Charles?" She could ignore the fact that Mr. Charles had to be someone's son, until that someone was her. "My son in danger? A spy? I won't have it."

"You don't have a vote." Not that Ellie didn't agree. "You left us. You chose being a spy over being a mother. I am the only parent Chuck has, and I _will_ have it. In fact I insist on it."

Frost smiled. "You sound like me."

"Mom, don't take this the wrong way, because I really hope it hurts a lot, but everything I know about being a mother I learned from remembering you and not doing a single damn thing that you did."

It hurt. A lot. The car came to a screeching halt. "Out."

Ellie looked around, completely unaware of where she was. Shipping containers everywhere. "You're abandoning me again?" Here?

Frost opened her door. "Out."

Ellie followed. "Where are we?"

"Come with me," said her mother, walking in among the crates where the car couldn't go."It's too late for a teddy bear or a new dress, but how about a Mother's Day present instead?"

* * *

"Him _and_ his lab?" said Chuck, a little shaky with relief. This op hadn't needed so much running that he didn't worry himself sick anyway.

Across the lab, Manoosh went 'Yes!', grinning broadly. That was his Boss.

"Yeah," said Chuck. "We'll be here. Take your time, do it right." He clicked off and immediately entered Devon's number. No way he'd let him suffer a minute longer than he had to. Passing the story along to someone else–he was positively giddy!

The perfect mood. "Project?" asked Manoosh.

The perfect idea. "Project!"

* * *

"Chuck," called Manoosh over the intercom. "Shut it down, they're here."

Chuck didn't shut it down, he didn't have the time to save it all, so he did the next best thing. He hit the door control, since the screens had to be clear before it would open. He walked out right in front of Ellie.

"There you are, little brother," she said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not the one who got kidnapped, sis."

"Exactly," she said. "You don't have nearly as much experience worrying about me as I do worrying about you. What were you doing in the Intersect room?"

Fortunately Chuck already had an answer ready. "Do you realize that even with all the resources the government has at its disposal, there is only one video about Matango the Fungus of Terror to be found anywhere?"

Ellie rolled her eyes. _That's my brother._ "Well, fortunately you can shelve that research, Mom gave us Wheelwright and his toxin. General Beckman wants me to do the initial review while she puts together a proper team."

"Wait, she shoots me and then hands her asset over to you? Since when did Mom start playing favorites like that?"

"Since she found out you were Mr. Charles and had to make it look good for her boss, Volkoff." She made room as Casey walked by, carrying a large box.

"Wait, you brought him here?"

"Yeah, I know," said Ellie. "We're not equipped to hold anyone securely but she wanted to keep this whole thing contained, until she finds out if this toxin really could do what Mom said."

"…probably smart."

"Don't worry, Chuck. I've got a haz-mat suit, and my office seals, although keeping the poison gas _in_ wasn't the original idea. Sarah and Casey have the real problem. Apparently this Wheelwright guy put together at least one delivery vehicle, and they have to disarm it."

* * *

"Hello again, Doctor."

Wheelwright looked up at his new captor, as the old one went to join her partner disassembling the device. "So that conniving bitch was plotting with you all along?"

"You might want to watch how you talk about my mother, Doctor."

Wheelwright sneered in disgust. Both men looked over at the sound of a vacuum seal hissing open.

"Okay," said Sarah. "Let's get that detonator." Suddenly a panel popped out, with a timer. "Casey!"

The big man grunted. "Another booby-trap? Chuck, get him over here." As Chuck walked the prisoner to the bench Casey fetched the gas masks. "Well, we've got three masks and four of us. If that booby-trap goes off, Doctor, guess who gets exposed."

"Well played," snarled Wheelwright. He pressed his thumb to the panel and the timer stopped. "There you go, perfectly safe."

Casey dumped the masks on the table. "Put him back." Suddenly the timer beeped and he looked down, to see it counting down at great speed. No time for masks. "Chuck, get her out of here!"

Chuck grabbed Sarah as Sarah grabbed Chuck and they both pushed each other out the door. Wheelwright watched them go calmly, then turned back to see his device go off–

Inside a clear acrylic box, as Casey held the door shut. The box filled with colored gas, but none was leaking out. "Clever, Doctor," he said, "But not–"

Wheelwright sprayed him in the face with what looked like a rescue inhaler, then stood back and watched as Casey started to tremble. "Your hands are shaking. That's how it begins…"

Chuck and Sarah came back into the room, when the alarms failed to go off.

Casey lashed out, smacking Wheelwright's hand and sending the fake inhaler flying towards Sarah. As she caught it, Wheelwright stepped around his victim, tugging gently on the unlocked door of the containment box. It popped open, spewing bluish vapors everywhere.

 _Now_ the alarms went off.

Wheelwright just watched as his toxin surrounded them all. "Oops."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N** Here begins the the main arc of this season. Chuck, Sarah, and Casey all get exposed to the fear toxin, and it takes it's toll on all of them, Sarah especially. The goal of my story, unlike canon, was for Chuck and Sarah to grow toward each other, Chuck to become a stronger man and agent, Sarah to become more of the normal girl. The first season of nine2five was mostly about Chuck, and that transition continues in this season. But Sarah has her walls, too, and they need to come down pretty quickly. The fear toxin was a perfect device to do that, and would have been in canon if they'd had any interest at all in making Sarah anything like a real girl. Unfortunately the focus was all on Chuck and they missed the great opportunity the fear toxin offered them, dismissing it with a single tossed-off line about antidotes, as if Wheelwright would ever have made one.

* * *

Fog rose around them, and the light grew dim. That was an automatic response of the alarm system, to dim the lights, so as to make everyone's eyesight a bit sharper. At least, that was the theory, When the enemy hazard was foggy and toxic, good eyesight didn't help so much.

"Ahh!" said Chuck, as the mist stung his eyes, burned his throat. "What have you done?" Danger! _Danger, Will Robinson._ Danger all around! A coffeepot! He could burn his hand on that, and whose idea was it to put chairs on wheels anyway? "Sarah, get back!" He tried to get her away, but those were swinging doors back there! They could pinch!

"Boo!" said Wheelwright in his face, grimacing, leering. _Not so tough now, are you?_ Chuck jerked and fell to the floor, scooting backwards to the wall. Nice strong walls. Nothing could attack him there. Unless they gave way. "Ah!"

* * *

Something moved in the mist, shouting in terror. "Chuck!" she yelled, and he flinched, a mighty spasm not as effective nor as stylish as the Morgan. As a spy Sarah was well acquainted with fear. Fear wasn't something to be ignored or conquered, not in her line of work. Fear is a warning, and a good spy heeded those warnings.

Sarah was a good spy. Wasn't she?

 _I'm a spy, I can get through this!_ That's what they taught them in spy school. How to use fear, make it work for them. _Chuck's never been to spy school!_ He had no training. Oh God, he'll fall apart. It was all up to her. Up to her. Her hands were shaking. All up to her and all she could think about was her poor husband God I'm so weak! How can I call myself a spy when I'm so weak! I have to do something! But she couldn't get herself to move, couldn't make herself do any of the things she knew she ought to be doing and that scared her even more. She couldn't even make fear work for her.

"Your hands are shaking," said Wheelwright. "That's how it begins."

He knew! Of course he knew. He knew and he'd opened the door anyway. "You exposed us all! Why would you do that?" He had to know how to beat it, how to fight it. Had to have an antidote…

"I gave in to the insanity," said Wheelwright. "Now I'm not afraid of anything. So the question is, what scares you?" He stuck his face close to Sarah's and she shrieked at the suddenness of it.

* * *

The sound cut right through Chuck, right through the fog.

Chuck didn't flash. The world flashed, a blinding light that pushed all the fear away, all the emotion.

He was in a room. He knew this place, he'd been here before. The world was a screen, a window, and he stood in the silence and the solitude, watching, analyzing, evaluating. The room rocked. Something pounded on the door.

The toxin.

He had to save Sarah, that's why he was here, in this place that had been so empty for so long. The room shook again. The Intersect was useful, but not enough. It was a tool, but he needed more than just a tool. _Carmichael, I need you now._

Carmichael was long gone, dissolved, destroyed, absorbed into the mind that made him. Now Chuck took those parts and wrapped himself in the skin of his smallest, hardest, most durable self, a shield against the fear.

* * *

As the mists rose around them, Sarah knew that she had failed. Failed utterly.`

Who was she trying to fool?

Was she a spy, or was she a wife? She didn't know! _it's all in my head. It's all in my head, and I have to fight it._

Wheelwright came back, a bag over his shoulder with his device inside. "Now, Agent Whatever your name is, if you get me out of here, I will consider taking you to the antitoxin."

An antidote! She was saved. Chuck was saved! _I thought of myself first! What kind of a wife am I?_

Wheelwright grabbed her arm and turned her to the door, those swinging, pinching doors, when suddenly a shape loomed up out of the darkness. "Excuse me," said Chuck, giving Wheelwright a solid push. The smaller scientist went reeling backward, but Chuck didn't care. He could move, he could act, but he didn't know how long that would last. He took his wife into his arms. "Trust me, Sarah."

Sarah couldn't move, couldn't act. Almost couldn't trust, but…this was Chuck! He was her life, her soul, the one she could trust when she could trust nothing else, not even herself. She nodded, barely noticeable over the trembling.

Chuck kissed her, one of the world's six most perfect kisses, a kiss that would put her off flying for the rest of her life. The essence of Charles Bartowski was in that kiss, the passion of his lips, the gentleness of his touch, the strength and safety of his arms.

Sarah closed her eyes against the nightmares, experienced the haven he offered in his touch, his warmth, the scent of him, so familiar. _Lub-Dub_. Her pulse strengthened, faster. She knew the sound of his breathing, his weight, his height, the perfection of him for her, and she molded herself into that perfection.

Together they held each other's fear at bay.

* * *

Wheelwright stumbled backward in the gloom and tripped, the weight of his device pulling him down. A leg! Oh yes, that behemoth. The owner of the leg had taken refuge under the desk. Should be a quivering hunk of jelly by now. "You'll do nicely," said the doctor, grabbing the limb. "Come on out, lummox."

A hand swung down, knife at the ready, narrowly missing Wheelwright's arm as he squeaked backward. Casey was afraid. Casey didn't like being afraid.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" shouted Wheelwright, backing off as Casey came out to drive his demons away. The fearmonger fled past Chuck and Sarah, still wrapped in each other and oblivious to all else. Casey followed, but when he caught sight of the two lovers entwined, he flinched, hands raised against the naked emotion, and retreated back to his cave.

Wheelwright fell through the swinging doors, jumping back as they flapped back and forth menacingly, and looked down the hall. Empty, white, with a few doors to check. Something had to lead out of here! He crept down the hall, and tried the first door he came to, but it was locked, beyond locked.

Something moved in the window, something not human! He jerked back, shouting, and ran away down the hall.

* * *

Ellie muttered something unladylike under her breath as the faceplate of her suit whacked into the door yet again, not wanting to hear herself use such language. The bad guy was loose. Probably staged some kind of gas attack and she was stuck in here while everyone else was probably shaking themselves to death! She had to get out, had to do…what?

Really, what could she do? She couldn't even keep her hair out of her eyes. God, she hated hazmat suits. She blew out and up, trying to get it out of her face.

Well, whatever she could do, she'd better be ready to do it when that door opened. She had the notes, the raw materials. She'd think of something.

Where the hell was Manoosh?

* * *

Wheelwright eventually discovered a lounge area, and a soda machine that looked more heavily protected than Fort Knox. _Who_ does _this?_ He spent a few moments checking it for surprises, but finally decided someone just wanted their soda kept safe. Really, really safe.

No wonder his toxin wasn't working as expected. What a bunch of weirdoes.

He heard a sound, a familiar one. An elevator! Someone was using the elevator. He had to hide! The lounge was no good, everything snug against walls. Had to go back. Back!

He jerked to a halt when the door came in sight, the one with the monster, but there was another door here, standing open. Tiled walls and floor, no cover, no one waiting to pounce. He slipped inside, and shut the door.

The screens started to flicker as Chuck's program resumed.

* * *

Carina came out of the elevator, suited up and gun at the ready. The alarms were on, the lights were low, but nothing looked out of place. Like that mattered. The damn helmet obscured her side-vision, though, but they had training in how to move under those conditions. She just had to move slowly and carefully, sticking close to the walls. She tugged on the doors to Ellie's office but they were sealed as they should have been. She knocked.

Ellie's masked face came to the window, like some alien monster. "Carina! The others are in Manoosh's lab, They were trying to disarm the device but I guess it went off somehow. I saw Wheelwright creeping around, too."

"You think he's got an antidote?" Ellie tapped her ear. Carina upped her volume and repeated herself.

"I hope so, but his notes don't mention one. He went to a lot of trouble to suppress the body's natural response mechanisms, though, so that might help."

Help _her_ , maybe. "What does that mean?"

Ellie used short words. "When you're afraid your body reacts, mostly with adrenaline. You want to run, you want to fight, so it gears up to do either one. This toxin suppresses that. The victim experiences all the fear and the stress of fear with no normal way to relieve it. They just stand there and shake, or go insane."

Better than up and shooting, if this was supposed to be a combat gas. "How do I get them adrenaline?"

Ellie thought about what she would have available out there, since all the adrenaline and syringes were locked in here with her. "Um, coffee or soda, anything with caffeine in it."

Hazmat suits don't have pockets for spare change. "Have you _seen_ that soda machine?" Plus good luck getting them to drink it.

"I made the soda machine, Manoosh likes to get clever." Dammit. "Make them mad, if you can."

Carina shifted the gun to her left hand, so she could gesture at herself with the right. "You're asking me if I can make Casey mad?" The only person she could never make mad was Chuck, which bothered her a bit.

"Okay, stupid question. Try to survive your incredible success."

Carina looked less smug. "Good point." She hurried away, less concerned now about Wainwright, Cartwright, whatever his name was, than she was about the rest of her team.

She pushed through the doors and stopped, struck speechless by the sight of Chuck and Sarah, practically melted into each other and completely ignoring her. _Looks like they found their own solution._

Now, where was Casey?

She followed the growling, but she didn't follow it far.

"Hey, Casey," she said loudly, pulling up a chair some distance away. "Good for you, getting in touch with your inner cave-Marine." That went over like a lead balloon. The small kind. Chuck had once told her the large ones could fly, as if she'd ever wanted to know. "I know! While we're here, how about I tell you all about our–" her voice slowed down, drawing out ever delicious syllable "–wonderful adventure in Costa Gravas. Not that petty little story of betrayal and the revolution, of course, but the real danger," Oh, the throaty purr she put behind 'real', "When Alex gave Morgan that _verrry_ private showing of all her _exxtra_ -special bikinis, the small ones, you know, not that burqa she wore to the beach, in his _ssspecial_ private luxurious room."

"Graahh!" Casey exploded out of his cave. Carina kicked her wheeled chair at him, but he batted it aside and kept coming, taking her neck in his hands.

She popped his elbows and jabbed him in the throat, kicking him in the nuts for good measure as he staggered back. "You're welcome!" She ran away, and he chased after her, dodging around the Statue of the Entwined Lovers in the middle of the room. She ran through the swinging doors and he was right behind her–

The doors caught him in the face as they closed. He hit them back and plowed into the hallway, just in time to get shot. Two darts in the chest, courtesy of Carina's tranq gun. "You'll thank me in the morning, Casey."

Behind her, the door to the Intersect room flew open, and Wheelwright ran out behind her, screaming, "Ballroom dancing! Public speeches! AAAhh!"

He ran right past Carina, not even noticing her, and Casey clotheslined him, dropping him flat on his back on the linoleum.

Carina winced. "That's gonna hurt."

Casey reached up and pulled the two darts from his chest. "Thanks."

Carina backed away, not quite pointing her gun at him, but not ready to shake hands and make friends yet either. As she approached the door it opened again, and she raised her gun, but it was only Manoosh, yawning. Possibly the least threatening figure she'd ever seen in her life. "Where the hell have you been?"

The sudden appearance of a helmeted apparition didn't faze him in the slightest. "They kicked me out of my lab, so I took a nap. Chuck's got a cot in there." He looked her up and down. "What are you dressed up as?"

"There's toxic vapor all over your lab, doofus, can't you hear the alarms?"

He looked up, suddenly noticing the claxons and the lights. "Toxic vapor? Cool!" He tried to edge past her, eager to see.

"And Chuck and Sarah kissing," she added.

"Uhh…" He drew up short. "Maybe I'll wait for that."

* * *

Manoosh appeared in the entrance to the little lounge area. "More coffee, people, drink up. Doctor's orders."

"What happened to you?" asked Chuck, noticing the band-aid on his thumb.

"Burnt my hand on the coffee-maker," said the younger nerd, shrugging. "I wouldn't have bothered, but the Boss insisted on the bandage."

Chuck looked up as Ellie appeared in the doorway, tray in hand. "Yeah, my sister can be like that."

"She's more of a mom than my mom ever was."

"Here, Manoosh, let me get that for you," said Sarah, taking the pot. Ellie took advantage of all the fuss and clatter to vanish for a bit. "You've done enough. If you hadn't reversed the air conditioning and unsealed the doors, we'd still be in there kissing."

Chuck spluttered into his cup, spraying warm coffee everywhere. "Hey!"

She poured him some more. "Sorry, sweetie, but my lips are really sore."

Chuck would have smiled, but his lips were sore too. "Maybe we can rub noses, like the Eskimos do."

"Maybe you can let that wait a few minutes, little brother," said Ellie coming into the room, eyes glistening. She sniffed. "I have to get some more blood samples, for the breakdown study." She pulled out the needle and Chuck fainted. "Again?"

* * *

"He reversed the air conditioning?" asked Beckman.

"Yes, ma'am," said Carina. "Once the gas was mostly gone the alarm shut off and Ellie was able to give everyone their shots." She hadn't gotten a visual but she would treasure the memory of Chuck braying like a mule forever.

Beckman had other concerns. "So now that toxin is in the open?"

"No, ma'am," said Casey. "The filtration on the air handler system caught it." Those filters caught everything.

Check. "And Wheelwright?"

"Raving about corsages, don't ask. Casey had to tranq him so the straitjacket team could work."

Beckman looked like she was about to ask anyway, but contented herself with, "Good work, team."

Carina stood up when the screen blanked, but Casey didn't. "Miller. You meet with my contact?"

She kept her back turned. "You could have told me he would come in hot and heavy. Fortunately I used Martin as a magnet and got the drop on him."

 _Heh._ Bet he loved that. "You got the file?"

"Yeah, I got the file. Chuck's mother is as dirty as they come, went rogue twenty years ago. Wait until I leave the building before you tell him." She started walking.

"Miller. How much of what you said to me in there was true?"

She didn't stop. "Is that _any_ of your business?"

* * *

"Yes, Chuck, it's the last one."

He rolled down his sleeves with much rejoicing.

"You've had worse," sneered Manoosh.

"Had worse?" Chuck protested. "My arm's off!"

"It's just a flesh wound."

Chuck laughed. "Yeah, the real butchery is what we just did to that scene."

Manoosh accepted the critique with a sigh. "Yeah, I used to know all the cheeses before I came down here."

"You too?"

"Boys, take it outside," said Ellie.

"Yes, Mother," said the two grown nerds in unison. Ellie smiled.

Sarah came in. "You ready to go, Chuck?"

"Just a second." He pulled on his coat.

"Can we take your car?"

She didn't want to drive? "Are you all right, Sarah?" asked Ellie.

"I'm okay, Ellie," said Sarah, nodding. "I don't want to be alone just now."

The doctor gave her the once over, and smiled. "I can understand that. And this way you can cover for each other if any sudden symptoms hit. Let me know if anything happens."

Yes. Great. Thanks. "Can we go now?"

"Anything you want, wife."

Sarah kept her hands in her pockets, gripping her keys tightly. They began to shake. That's how it began.

* * *

 **A/N2** Coffee makers, swinging doors, and chairs on wheels. They'll get you every time. I loved the way Morgan revived Casey in Couch Lock, and was glad to find a place for that scene here. The real reason I came up with the project that Chuck and Manoosh were working on was to give Wheelwright something to be afraid of, but like most things it took on a life of its own, and reappeared later in the season. In both cases it was subbing for Jeff Barnes' visual masterpieces. He was a good character, and it's unfortunate he was wasted (literally) until the middle of S5.


	21. Photo Op

**A/N** This is the first chapter of a two-episode story, in which I combined four separate canon episodes, First Fight, Leftovers, A Team, and the Muurder. This chapter is mostly a reworking of First Fight.

* * *

"Are you alone, Frost?"

The sound of her voice was welcome, the only part of her he was going to get tonight. "Yes, Alexei. They carted Wheelwright off to his padded cell a few hours ago."

Where he belonged. For a second Volkoff mourned the idea of the billions that toxin was worth, except that everyone would destroy whoever had it. Some ideas were just too big. "And our payment?"

"Will be delivered as soon as they can figure out which account to deduct it from. 'Payoff to foreign arms merchant' isn't a recognized GAO category."

"It isn't a payoff, it's a bounty, they should have a category for that. We delivered an international terrorist to their doorstep, with his weapon." Better than nothing.

She sounded mildly surprised at the idea. "I'll suggest it to them."

"Make it fast, Frost. I want you home as quickly as can be." He heard the sound of a keyboard in the background.

"Email sent, now I have to leave. Arrangements have already been made for transport. Soon I'll be home."

That news was very welcome to his ears. Not so welcome was the news, when it came, that she never made the flight.

* * *

Chuck pulled up to his house, but didn't pull into his driveway immediately. Something was in the way, a panel wagon with the logo of a fictitious carpet cleaning firm on the side. "What are they doing _here_?"

Sarah went for the door. "Believe me, I intend to find out!"

"Stop, stop," said Chuck, grabbing her shoulder. "Let's do it right. Grab your wig, I'll get the boxes." He pulled on his hat, brushing his hair up under it to hide the curls. When he stepped out of his car he stood a bit shorter than his usual height, and went to the back of the car for the boxes.

Sarah put on low shoes, slouching a bit as she grabbed some bags. Together they walked up to the door of their own house and rang the bell.

A man's voice called out, "Who is it?"

"Special order from Sabado's," said Sarah, with an accent of no obvious origin.

A man opened the door, tall and curly-haired. "Excellent. Right on time, come on in."

Chuck and Sarah walked in, wondering what a CIA cleaner crew was doing in their house. "Oh thank God," said Chuck, standing tall as the door closed behind him. "That really kills my thighs." He put down the boxes and took off his hat, handing it to the tall man.

Sarah handed the wig to the blonde woman standing by, but the other woman just smiled and took off her own wig instead. "You guys want to tell us what you're doing in our house?"

"Sorry, Agent Bartowski, " said the woman, in a nasal voice, "That's above our pay grade. You'll have to talk to Agent Miller, she's the one who called. Where do you want us to leave your car?" she asked, pulling on Sarah's coat.

"Carina?" asked Chuck, signing off on the repairs. "Why?"

"Don't know, don't wanna know," said the tall man, shrugging. He and the woman took the empty boxes, and Chuck's keys, and left in Chuck's car.

"Kind of a waste of time, talking to them, Mister B," said the crew chief. "They're just doubles. Agent Miller had a real knock-down drag-out with some other agent. Good thing we had specs on most of your possessions. We managed to save your albums, too, but I'm sorry about the computer. We'll have to get you another one of them later, it ain't standard."

"My computer?"

"Yeah." The chief turned, snapping his fingers, and one of his men handed him a flat black piece of plastic with a knife sticking through it.

Chuck held the laptop as Sarah pulled out the knife, but the holographic projector had seen better days. "You won't find another one like this, chief," said Chuck, running his fingers across the lid of a computer he'd last seen going into his mother's bag. "She's one of a kind."

* * *

Casey sat in his darkened living room, a bottle of Black at his side. One hand held a glass and the other one held a gun. One of them was shaking.

Only a fool is never afraid, and John Casey wasn't a fool. He knew his fears, kept them close, as close as any other enemy. He knew them all, intimately. He thought he did, anyway, but now he knew he had a few more chinks in his armor. He had to close them up, had to deal with them somehow.

He had to get away, before he killed Morgan Grimes. Not that Grimes had done anything to deserve it. He'd been nothing but a gentleman around Alex. Sure it was easy to say that was only because of fear, but the fact that Morgan knew how to _be_ a gentleman was the important part.

No, Chuck Junior wasn't the problem, Carina was the problem. She'd played him expertly back there, used his fears about Grimes and Alex to make him angry, angry enough to drive off the fear, restore his focus. He had to thank her for that.

Thanking Carina didn't make it onto his list of top 100 things to do, and he really wanted to kill somebody.

The phone rang, and his hand twitched, but he wasn't that far gone. Yet. The screen showed no caller ID. He took a sip and let the phone ring again. "Who is this and what do you want?"

"A girl doesn't like to be stood up, Colonel," said Director Bentley.

* * *

Ellie opened the door to her house the next morning, followed by Honey and her son Devon in the rear, carrying all the little presents for the baby when he or she finally arrived. A dictionary and an encyclopedia, and of course an atlas, because, as Honey put it, "National boundaries don't change overnight."

"I'm so glad you stayed, Honey," said Ellie through a fixed smile. Something else to thank her mother for, kidnapping her in plain sight yesterday. Now Honey would _never_ leave, and of course she wanted to be close in this time of crisis. "Our guest bedroom is right through there."

"Thanks Ellie," said the older woman, her mentor and role model. She grabbed the bucket with her spray bottle, brush, gloves and paper towels. "I think I'll just go…freshen up a bit."

Ellie looked for her husband but of course he was nowhere to be seen. "Fine." As the maternal Woodcombe left, her son reappeared from the small room where they had all of the baby's stuff put away until the guest bedroom was empty again. Hopefully very, very soon. Ellie's smile faded. "Thanks, Devon."

"Hey, no problem, babe," he replied amiably. "Can't have the mother of my baby straining herself with those big heavy books."

She tapped the top of his head as he addressed her belly yet again. "Up here, daddy man. What's behind your back?"

"Oh, check this out." He showed her the little bear Honey had dismissed back at the store. "Good thing we didn't buy one, your brother came through in the clutch." He touched a little piece of paper on the collar, with Chuck's name. Grinning widely, Devon squeezed the bear's body again.

* * *

"Agent Miller," said General Beckman. "The documents you uncovered about Project Isis have been validated and are genuine. The project was shut down twenty years ago, when Agent Frost went rogue. You and Colonel Casey have my authorization to bring her in, if that should be possible at this late date, but _you_ are team lead." Carina being the most objective and reliable member of the team in this situation. On paper.

"If it's all the same to you, General, can I have your forgiveness, rather than your permission?" Carina tapped a control, bringing up a window to cell A, _her_ cell, and its current occupant.

If Carina was hoping for any expression to appear on Beckman's face other than the usual one (that of someone herding cats for a living), she was disappointed. Beckman was beyond surprise at most of this team's accomplishments, and the sight of Frost sitting shackled in a cell was no exception. "I would have thought, Agent Miller, that after last year you would have learned to be more…discreet. _My_ forgiveness isn't what you should be hoping for."

Carina shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "It's not like I planned it," she said to the table. "I had a hunch, so I thought I'd kill time while I was waiting for your decision."

Beckman noticed the décor of the wall behind her, part of the CIA secure wing. "You have a second cell already picked out, I presume?"

Carina cleared her throat. "I don't think I'm in any danger there, ma'am. I may find my password getting changed twenty times a day, but Chuck really isn't the violent type." She'd almost rather he was. The last time he had a boom to lower, he let it hang six months before dropping it.

"Well, we'll find out, won't we?" The phone rang at Beckman's elbow. "I wonder who that could be." A tap on the controls and another window popped up, wide enough for two, if they were cozy. Chuck and Sarah had no problem with the space. "Good evening, Chuck, Sarah."

"General," said Chuck politely. "Carina."

Carina blurted out, "Casey was supposed to tell you!"

"Tell us what?" asked Sarah. "That you were going to go behind our backs, or that he already had?"

 _None of that._ "On my orders, Agent Bartowski," said Beckman. "This sort of operation threatens team cohesion, so it can only be required at the highest level." _Take it up with me, if you dare._ "Colonel Casey and Agent Miller weren't going behind your backs, they had your backs. Otherwise the capture would have been accomplished by a black ops team and you'd never have known anything happened, and Chuck would never see his mother again."

"So I can see her?"

"Absolutely not, Mr. Bartowski, and that is a direct order from me. Tomorrow she goes to a black site for debriefing and that will be the end of Project Isis."

* * *

Chuck squeezed Sarah's hand so tightly under the table that she almost cried out in pain. Instead she squeezed back.

"So you and Carina take my mother away from me just when I get her back, and you want us to thank you for it? _Ow!_ " He pulled his hand up, shaking his fingers.

"Chuck, clearly you weren't listening," said Beckman, teacher to pupil. "Agent Miller knew what had to be done and knew it would hurt you, but even then she didn't do it. _I_ made the call to have your mother brought in. I made the call to take her away from you, that's what being a commander is all about. And no, I don't expect you to thank me." She looked regretful, or hopeful, or maybe both. "I don't expect you to feel grateful to Agent Miller either, but I do expect you to recognize the correctness of her actions, on your behalf, and respond appropriately. Is that clear?"

"Yes, General," said Chuck. He looked at Carina, and said, with some degree of stiff formality, "Thanks for having my back, Carina, but I can't really say I hope you were right."

Carina nodded. "I know, Chuck. We all do. It was just a hunch, anyway, I almost wish I _had_ been wrong, about that at least."

"You had a hunch she'd be in our house?"

"It was reasonably safe and secure, and you weren't there. She'd been away twenty years, I can see her wanting the, the…the sense of you, if she couldn't have you."

Even Beckman looked surprised. "That's more insightful than I would have expected."

"It did sound good, didn't it?" said Carina with a grin. "I just imagined Sarah having to keep her distance from Chuck for twenty years and wondered where _she'd_ go."

She'd go crazy. "Twenty _years_?" asked Sarah, appalled.

Beckman smiled. "Twenty days would be more than adequate."

"Twenty minutes," Carina corrected herself.

"I'm not that bad," protested Sarah. She stuck out her tongue at her friend.

"And on that note," said Beckman, "This meeting is adjourned."

* * *

John Casey did something he never thought he'd do in his life. He engaged the privacy screen on his TV communicator. Just in time, as the doorbell rang, once.

Of the three women outside his door, Director Bentley was by far the shortest, but she more than made up for it in confidence and authority. "May we come in?" she asked. Not a question.

He stood aside and watched the two unknowns as they passed. He could spot the makeup at this range, it looked like the blonde had taken a few hits recently. The black one was tall, and stood very straight, as straight as him. She seemed to approve of him already. He wasn't quite so ready.

Director Bentley made a quick turn, taking in the entire room. "You'll pardon me for asking this, Colonel, but are we secure?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Allow me to introduce Captains Victoria Dunwoody–" the blonde saluted "–and Robin Noble." She also saluted.

"Captains," rumbled Casey, with a salute of his own.

Bentley approved. "They're your new team."

* * *

Chuck sat next to his wife, refusing to get his hopes up. "So why was my mother here, Sarah? It wasn't to get a 'sense of me', whatever that is. She didn't want to get to know me at the playground, why would that change?"

"Twenty years is a long time, Chuck. She spent a bit of time with Ellie, maybe that changed her mind." Sarah stood up, casting her eyes over her domain. "A mother, about to be a grandmother, I can understand it."

Chuck tapped the ruined laptop. "Probably wanted to check NORAD, see if the arming codes were still the same."

"Chuck, stop it. However painful it was for you, it had to be much worse for her. She had to actually do it." Sarah walked, away from the very idea, silently damning Carina for putting it in her mind. Toward something, anything, less painful to think about. Like…her favorite photo, reframed yet again, positioned not quite right on their new end table, so she changed the angle. She didn't want to bury it in a book, not that it would have been any safer there. Their photo albums. All on a high shelf, but still in harm's way.

She frowned. Not likely. Not _there_. That shelf was intact.

The chief said they'd been damaged, so they had to be out. If they were out, maybe she took them out, looking for something, maybe, or maybe just all the history she'd missed. Something else they had in co–"Sweetie?"

Mother? Mother who? "Yes, Sarah?" said Chuck, walking away from his own troubles to tend to whatever put that tone into her voice.

She turned, holding a small book full of stiff black pages. "Where did this come from?"


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N** I try to avoid rewriting scenes that I like, which would describe the many scenes with Chuck and Tuttle in First Fight, so I skipped them wherever I could. I'm also kind of surprised that no one cared what 'per fas et nefas' meant, I think I'm the only one who ever mentioned it, but it suits Frost perfectly.

* * *

"What are these?"

Chuck folded back a page, the ancient paper of the book cracking at the edges. "As a first approximation, I'd have to guess they were photographs."

Sarah sank back in her seat. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, no wonder you're the…you know."

Chuck held up a hand, fingers almost touching. "I'm sure you were _this close_ to figuring it out yourself. Or were you talking about the car?"

Sarah threw a cushion at him, but he deflected it with his native powers of pillow-fu, no flashing required. "Of course I meant the car."

"Well, unfortunately it looks like none of America's enemies ever attacked her in a '68 Mustang, so we're stuck with my powers of deduction, which, I have to tell you–" he paused for breath "–are coming up a little short, except to say that the guy must be a bit strange. I mean, seriously, who takes this many pictures of a car?"

"Casey's got a photo album for each Crown Vic he's ever owned."

"Okay, a) I stand by my statement about strange, and b) how on Earth would you know something like that?"

"I saw them in his apartment, back in LA. When you blew up that last one with the missile, one of the albums disappeared from the shelf. I found it in a cupboard, under a piece of black cloth."

"You snuck into Casey's house?"

She shrugged. "It was a bit of a down time, mission-wise, and I didn't want to get rusty."

Chuck was about to turn the next page when he was struck by a thought. "You don't suppose he names them, do you?"

Sarah sat forward again, taking the book back. "He's not that strange. Just his guns. Who's the girl?"

Chuck craned his head to look. "That's Ellie."

" _That's_ Ellie?"

"Yeah, she changed a lot growing up. We don't have any pictures of her when she was this young though." His eyes got wide. "You know what this means?"

"That your mother probably took those albums with her when she left, and brought this one back as a clue?"

"No, that my dad was probably the guy who took all these pictures! Oh, the horror…"

The doorbell rang. "Deal with it, sweetie," said Sarah, getting up to answer it. She didn't look out the peephole, of course. It was really a camera, and the mirror doubled as a viewscreen. "It's Ellie and Devon." Biometrics looked good, no obvious signs of coercion. She opened the door.

Chuck closed the book. "How remarkably coincidental." He picked it up and stood, turning around. "Hey, Ellie, Devon. Oo, nice bear!"

"It's for you," said Ellie, holding it out.

He took it, looked at the collar. "A ballerina named Chuck?"

Sarah suddenly thought about ballerinas, and her arm spasmed as she closed the door, making it slam. "Sorry."

"It's not the bear, bro," said Devon. "It's the message _in_ the bear." He held out a hand, and Chuck passed it to him. "You gotta squeeze the tummy, like this."

* * *

"Why LA?" asked Casey.

"Lots of reasons, actually," said Bentley. "You're very familiar with the territory, which has a disproportionately high incidence of clandestine operations, for areas of its type. Plus we can operate without too much interference from the agents already on station."

The two captains smirked at the reference to the Castle team.

"They might surprise you," said Casey.

"They're welcome to try," said Bentley, her voice indicating a complete lack of faith that they would ever succeed. "If they did somehow manage it, it would only cement our cover. Finally, the last thing we want for this team is any interference from your old team."

"I wouldn't call advice from the first and best Intersect agent in the world 'interference', Director."

"Agent Charles is a stroke of luck and a freak of nature, Colonel."

 _Not a freak of nature. Accident of science, more like._ Not that he could point that out in front of the noobs. "Well, you're half right."

Bentley frowned. "I don't understand."

Loving husband, loyal friend, genuine hero. Probably not in her scale of values, but definitely a stroke of luck for the wife, the friends, and the country. "Doubt you ever will, either."

Somehow Director Bentley felt like she'd lost something, and she didn't like to lose. "If we're ever to get this project off the ground, we have to prove that it can work inside the heads of trained operatives."

"I've seen what happened when others tried."

"Those 'others' didn't have this Intersect team tweaking their code, Colonel. Are you in or out?"

"Oh, I'm in," said Casey. "If it works or doesn't work, I want to be there when it happens."

* * *

" _Per fas et nefas_?" repeated Devon. "What kind of a code phrase is that?"

"It's Latin," said Chuck. "It means 'through right and wrong', a style of argument where the goal is to score points no matter what the other guy says, rather than resolve a conflict or discover truth. You see a lot of politicians and talking heads do it these days."

"Is that in the, uh…?" Devon tapped the side of his head.

"No," said Chuck, holding up his phone. "Googled it."

"So what does it mean?" asked Ellie.

"It means we can't trust her," said Sarah, instantly.

"It could," agreed Chuck. "It certainly sounds like a 'win at any cost' type of strategy, granted, but it could also mean that this Tuttle guy is classically educated, snobby Latin phrases and all that." He smiled for Ellie's sake. "I'll find out when I meet him."

Sarah stepped up. "I'll take this meeting, Chuck."

"Hello," said Chuck, waving the toy in her face. "Not seeing your name on the bear."

Sarah pulled out a knife. "Hand it over."

"Hey!" shouted Devon, taking back the bear. "Let her take the meeting, Chuck."

* * *

Ellie placed the ancient photo album carefully between the seats. Devon drove, leaving her hands free to make the call. "Carina? It's Ellie."

Groan. "I hope you're not calling about those damn cakes again."

Hannah's wedding cake. It had been ages since she even thought about that. "No, she decided to go with a traditional–Carina, focus! Chuck and Sarah went to take a meeting with Mom's contact, some MI-6 guy named Tuttle."

Carina started moving, loud enough for Ellie to hear it. "Who? How'd you hear about him? Chuck didn't go sneaking around behind _our_ backs this time?"

"No, he didn't. Mom left him a message at my house." She put her phone to the bear's body and squeezed. "He and Sarah left to take the meeting together," she said when the message finished. "But they couldn't agree who was primary and who was backup–"

So many alarm bells went off that Carina had trouble sorting them out, so she bundled them up and grabbed hold. "So you want me to be backup for both of them. I can do that. Let me start checking."

"Thanks." Ellie ended the call.

"Okay, babe," said Devon. "You've done all you can do, so just relax, okay. They'll meet this guy, clear your Mom's name, it'll all be fine. You got nothing to worry about."

"What makes you think I'm worried?"

"You're choking the bear."

* * *

Not much time. Chuck and Sarah had to drive in, not to mention doing some recon before setting up, all of which would take a while. Carina would have liked to put that time to best use by checking into this Tuttle character, but MI6 wasn't going to be forthcoming with handler info at the best of times. After giving them a black eye in Somerset, these were hardly the best of times. They'd be going in blind on that front. Still, she made the request, just so she could say she had. Now to find out what she could about the tavern…

* * *

Sarah plowed through the doorway of the establishment, immediately unhappy with the layout of the venue. Booths down one end, absolutely unsuitable for a number of reasons. The bar, ditto. Tables this way, but none of them placed so that both she and Chuck could sit with their backs to a wall. The best she could find was a corner spot, where 'corner' was defined as a wall on one side and a row of serving carts on the other. As long as they were both vigilant, no one could sneak up on them.

"Uh, Sarah?" said Chuck, right behind her. "We're supposed to be here under cover, but you're looking like a spy checking the exits."

"I _am_ a spy checking the exits," she muttered.

"Yes, but a little subtlety goes a long way. You're supposed to look like a wife having lunch with her husband." Chuck led her straight to the table she'd already decided on, holding out the chair nearest the wall for her to sit.

She settled in, scanning the room yet again.

"Can you see the specials from where you're sitting?"

"Chuck, we're not there to order food," snapped Sarah. The door opened and she turned her head to observe as someone walked in, looking shifty and suspicious. "What the hell is _she_ doing here? Did you call her?"

"Yes," said Chuck, a little annoyed. "Right after I got out of the car and right before you did, I snuck in a call to Carina and briefed her on our entire operation. Thank God she only broke the sound barrier and not the light speed barrier getting here."

Nerd snark she could handle. "I have to get her out of here, she could blow this entire operation."

 _What operation? It's a meet-and-greet. "_ She's sitting at the bar, drinking water."

"A beautiful woman in a bar, drinking water, at this time of day? And that doesn't shriek 'spy' at you?" Sarah shook her head. "You really have to learn to think more like an agent, Chuck." She caught Carina's gaze in the mirror and jerked her head slightly. "Be right back, sweetie." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and went to the ladies' room.

* * *

The first thing Carina saw when she entered the bathroom wasn't Sarah, but an unattractive woman in a server's uniform, plucking nosehairs with a sharp pair of tweezers. _Just as well we're not here for the food._ Eventually, the woman noticed her in the mirror and stopped, pushing past Carina to the door, muttering "Excuse me" in a thickly accented voice.

A stall door slammed open and Sarah stormed out. "What are you doing here?"

"Calm down, Blondie, I'm only here for the beer," Carina said, trying for a lighter tone.

"Calm?" yelled Sarah, flinging her arms around. "How am I supposed to be _calm_? You know what a bundle of emotions Chuck is, but you still go behind his back and arrest his mother like that."

Carina moved to one of the sinks, but not the nose-hair one. "Chill out, Sarah, no need to drop F-bombs like that." She started rearranging her hair into a more artful state of disarray.

"I didn't drop one!"

Carina stared at her friend in the mirror. "Just checking. At least you're not _that_ far gone. So why are you wasting all this passionate intensity on me when you've got a perfectly good husband right outside?"

"You betrayed his trust and his family. You forced him into the open to prove his mother innocent."

Carina closed the distance between them, mainly so she wouldn't end up spilling classified beans in an unsecured location. The last time hadn't gone so well. "It was Casey's idea to pull up that file, not mine, and it was a good thing too. I can see her kids falling for her line, but I expected better from you. If that's the kind of trust you're talking about, I'll betray it every time."

Suddenly both ladies cringed, hands going to ears as their earpieces started squealing shrilly in their ears. Frantically they dug them out before they went deaf.

"What the hell was that?" asked Carina.

Sarah held her unit close to her ears, but the squeal had ended. "Chuck, are you okay? Chuck?"

Carina wisely got out of the way as Sarah took the most direct path to the door, which would have gone through her. By the time she got to the table, Sarah was already scanning the room for any sign of the men who'd taken her husband but left behind his phone, his watch, and his earpiece.

Sarah glared at Carina.

They said it together. "You've lost him."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N** I think I planned to use the fork somehow, to let Sarah identify Tuttle so that she would have advance knowledge that he and Volkoff were the same, but I never needed it. I have a lot of hooks that I put in place that I somehow never get around to using, but then other stuff that I never intend to use as a hook ends up connecting scenes that are chapters apart.

Frost is a great character to write. The easiest way make her sound mysterious is simply to never present the world through her eyes, and give everything she says multiple meanings. She doesn't manipulate so much as let people make mistakes that she doesn't bother to correct. And then she slips in some absolute truth every so often.

* * *

Sarah drove, so Carina made the call. "What do you mean, Casey's been reassigned? What possible assignment could be more–he requested it? Yes, ma'am, we understand." Carina ended the call. "She didn't sound happy."

"That makes two of us," said Sarah.

"You bet that makes two of us," said Carina. "I'm not a bit happy. After all she's done to you two, you still end up trusting this Frost bi–, um, person, and now look at you, us." Carina flipped a hand casually to include them both in this tar-baby of a CF of a mission. Which reminded her…"And that's the only thing she _was_ happy about, let me remind you. That it was 'us' and not 'you'." The two – three – of them, on an unsanctioned mission, based on spotty intel from an untrusted source.

"If you hadn't distracted me, I'd've been there."

"And you'd probably have been captured right along with him. If you hadn't distracted _me_ , we'd've both been there. And maybe gotten our hands on this Tuttle character, or at least something more useful than a plastic fork."

Carina was being optimistic. The speed of the operation told them both that there must have been at least seven men involved, a bit much for two agents to handle. "I've gotten lots from less."

"I doubt you're going to find Chuck's location written on it in invisible ink. The only way you'd get that information from this piece of crap is if you took it to Frost's neck and threatened to rip out her jugular." She picked up the bag and stared at the thin white utensil. "Can you do that? I don't think I can do that."

Chuck may whine a good game, but when the chips were down he wouldn't budge, and neither would his mother. "I don't need Frost for that," said Sarah. "If she rotted in her cell and I never saw her again that'd be just fine with me. Once we get back to base we'll know exactly where Chuck is."

Carina was no fool. "You put in a new chip, didn't you?"

"Of course."

High tech silicon chips, lodged bone deep. "Bet he loved that."

No, he didn't love it, although Sarah had to admit he took it better than she thought he might. Getting 'killed' with a needle gun had certainly done wonders to put some of his more baby-ish fears in proper perspective. She clenched her hands on the wheel, to hide the shaking. "I can keep him safe, that's what matters."

"Yeah, I see that."

"Don't start that again. His screamer hasn't gone off, I can still get him back."

* * *

"He's where?" asked Ellie.

"West Virginia," said Sarah, her free hand flexing around a little rubber ball. Keeping up her grip strength, that's all. "Moving fast and straight, has to be in the air. Volkoff had a jet waiting. Carina and I are gearing up to follow, but intercepting them will be the hard part." _Can't exactly shoot them down._

"Go get him, Sarah."

"I will, Ellie, don't worry." She ended the call and flung the ball down, making it bounce off the floor and the wall back to her, and she reached out to–

Carina snatched the ball out the air. "Later for that, Beckman wants us." She turned toward the door, flinging the ball against another wall, sending it caroming around the room to end up in a bucket full of rubber balls. They were gone by then.

"Agent Bartowski, Agent Miller, you're ready to take off?"

"Yes, ma'am," they assured her, solid and professional.

"And Agent Frost?"

She sent her own son into the lion's den. "What about her, ma'am? Until we get Chuck and Tuttle back we still have no way to determine her true loyalties. Best to leave her off the playing field."

Beckman looked unhappy. "Ordinarily I'd agree with you, Sarah. But we've received a request for additional forces, from Castle."

One doesn't just say 'So what?' to Generals. "Didn't they just _get_ some new blood?" asked Carina.

Beckman nodded, not at all surprised that Carina kept track of where the new male agents were stationed. "Exactly, Agent Miller, emphasis on new. They got some trainees in the latest rotation, but they say they need some more experienced personnel , and having read their brief I agreed with them."

"We're already on a mission, ma'am."

"I think you will find their request dovetails with your mission parameters rather nicely, Sarah. They have recent intelligence that a mysterious and reclusive arms dealer is travelling from Russia to LA."

"Volkoff? He's never left there before."

"There are other arms dealers in Russia, unfortunately, but we find the timing suspicious," said Beckman. "If it is Volkoff, having his top lieutenant on hand may be useful. That's why I want you to bring Agent Frost with you to LA. She can enjoy the view from Castle's security cells as easily as from our own, but she'll be available should you need her."

* * *

Devon was engaged in his two favorite activities, exercising hard and watching Ellie. She'd promised him 'for better and for worse', as well as 'in sickness and health', after all, but the better and the health were the only things he wanted to give her. She deserved nothing less, especially now, with her mother and his bringing so much uncertainty into her life. They were doctors, they didn't like uncertainty. He liked what he had now, a wife snuggled on the couch, reading her book with a smile on her face. "You still don't remember any of those car trips, El?"

She flipped back and forth through the pages. "Some. Not a lot. I was so young in these, and asleep for a lot of the trip, too, from the look of things." She closed the book and set it on the table. "If Mom hadn't brought me this, I'd probably never have thought about it again."

Happy memories of better times. "Pretty nice of your mom to bring it back."

Ellie didn't let go of the album, though, her fingers drumming softly on the cover. "My mother abandoned us for the spy life, Devon, I don't think 'pretty nice' is high on her list of things to be."

He slowed his pace, partly because he was afraid he'd heard her wrong, but mostly because he was afraid he'd heard her right. "You think this is one of her spy games?"

Ellie picked the book up again, as if Devon's question had solidified her own certainty. "She was here, honey. She left the bear for Chuck, but she didn't leave the album. Why would she do that?"

"She knew we'd go to him…"

That stupid bear. But it fit. No one would think twice about a stuffed bear in a baby's room. "She left a message for him in our house."

He completed her thought. "You think she left a message for you in his?"

Why else would she be there? "It'd be just like her."

He slowed his pedaling and stopped, wiping his face with a towel as he thought about her words. "So what's the message?"

She pushed herself up off the couch. "I don't know, but I know exactly who to ask."

"Chuck may not be back for a while, El," said Devon gently.

She shook her head. "Not Chuck. Manoosh."

* * *

"Hello, _Mom._ "

"Hello, _dear_ , " said Mary Bartowski.

"You got Chuck captured by Volkoff's goons."

Mary looked concerned. "Are you sure it was me? I could have sworn I was sitting here the whole time," she said, rattling the chains on her manacles."I would be holding his backup responsible. Do you know who that was?"

Sarah's face became, if anything, even more mask-like. It wasn't a good look for her. "I don't suppose you have anything you might want to tell us? Something they might take into account at your sentencing, perhaps?"

Mary sat back in her seat. "That's quite an offer. You get your own husband captured, then you come to me looking like that, hoping I'll betray Alexei and get myself killed so that you can take my place."

"I don't work for Volkoff, unlike some of the people in this room."

"I'm sure you don't. I have complete confidence that at least one of us isn't a traitor." Mary sat forward. "The only thing I can do for you, Agent, is get my handler to trust you when he sees us together. If you can rescue him and your husband from the jaws of death, that is."

Sarah's fingers twitched.

The door opened. "Sarah," said Carina. "Perhaps you should check on our plane."

* * *

Ellie was ticking off items on her fingers, not many before she'd run out of cleverness. As a doctor, she was more a detective than a spy. "…background analysis, time of day, anything you can think of. These photos are a clue, I'm sure of it, I need to know what they're a clue _to_."

Manoosh flipped the pages. A lot of pictures for just a car. Well, it's a machine. Machines have parts and parts have serial numbers. Plus it would be a good test of that pattern algorithm Chuck was using for _his_ project. Time to scan the photos. "You got it, boss."

* * *

Sarah left to check on the plane's readiness.

"Agent Miller," said her mother-in-law's voice over the speakers. "I just want to thank you for keeping my son company all those long, lonely months when he was travelling the world, searching for me. I'm sure it must have been a difficult time, for both of you."

Sarah stopped, and looked at the window.

"You're welcome," said Carina. "You're right, it was a very trying time. I was practicing my celibacy, and he helped me get through it like a real gentleman."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Frost. "I wish I could believe it, too, but the thing I believe most is that someone is listening to every word we say, and you'll say anything to stay on her good side. I've sat in on a lot of interrogations that weren't as nice as this one, and i know how you must feel."

"I'm not afraid of Sarah," said Carina.

On the other side of the glass, Sarah tensed. How quickly some people forget.

Inside the room, Carina continued, "But Mrs. Bartowski scares the piss out of me, and if you had any sense she'd scare it out of you, too. So shut your noise, unless you've got something to say that's useful to the mission." She turned and left. Sarah was long gone, of course, so she set the room's lockdown mode and continued their preparations.

* * *

"It's in LA? How could that be, it's forty years old?"

Happy birthday. "Ask me about electronics, not cars."

"Okay, how'd you find it?"

"Easy," said Manoosh with a smile. "There wasn't anything in the photos, no special inks, no chemicals, no chips. All these angles, all this litter, no way for a decent code to be hidden in all that. Finally I just figured it was the car, the plates on the front and the VIN–" he flipped over the first photo in the set "–on the back. Insurance companies track that data. You want to hear something strange, though?"

"Sure, although I may not agree with you about 'strange'."

"Check this out," he said, bringing up another file. "I did a search, and `found a listing for this vehicle, every week in the classifieds, for at least the last six months."

Her father used to send her messages in the classifieds. "That's a long time for a classic car to go unclaimed."

"Probably like you said. It's forty years old, probably a hunk of junk by now." To Manoosh a five-year-old computer was a hunk of junk.

"Maybe," said Ellie. "Or maybe it's waiting for someone."

* * *

The man from Signals came back and informed Carina of a secure message. She got up to accept it, while he took her place as backup.

"That poor man," said Mary. "I don't know who he's more afraid of."

Sarah looked down at the cuffs on the prisoner's wrists. "I doubt it's you."

Mary grinned. "I don't think so either. See, I told you we had a lot in common."

"I'm nothing like you."

Mary's hair jiggled, the only outward sign that she shook her head. "We both love Chuck more than ourselves. We both will do anything we have to do, to keep him safe."

Sarah frowned out the window. _True._

"We both know how painful and frustrating it can be, trying to be both a spy and a wife."

Sarah glared, not out the window. "It's–" _not._

"Complicated? I know." Mary sighed. "I hope you manage not to make a hash of things, like I did. I didn't mean to, of course, but that's the hazard of being a spy, isn't it? One does so many things one doesn't mean to, and then you forget how to be what you were."

"I have Chuck," said Sarah firmly. "He knows what I am. I can't lose myself when I'm with him."

"I had Steven," said Mary with a shrug. "I didn't mean to fall for him, either, any more than you meant to love my son, but that's just another of those things, isn't it?" She lifted her wrists, stared at the cuffs. "And here we are."

"You're on your may to prison, and I'm taking you there," snarled Sarah. "That's where we are."

* * *

Mary heard footsteps behind her, and looked out the window. "If you say so." Carina walked past her and touched Sarah's shoulder, as if her partner wasn't already aware that something other than themselves was in the wind. Frost watched with some admiration as Sarah and her partner stepped through the usual dance, pivot-step, pivot-step, one of them keeping her in sight at all times. Carina even turned her back so Frost couldn't read her lips, not that she could but Carina didn't know that.

Sarah's face was remarkably expressive for a spy. Something good but strange, something bad that involved her. _Well, what didn't, these days?_ Sarah returned to her seat in a much better mood, if the bounce in her step was any indication. "Good news?" asked Mary.

"Chuck's escaped," said Sarah.

* * *

Frost's face went blank for a moment. "You don't look like you're all that thrilled at the news," said Sarah.

"Just…not what I expected to hear, that's all." The elder Bartowski cleared her throat. "How did it happen? Did he contact you?"

"Not yet, but he's on the ground and the plane isn't," said Sarah, before she remembered who she was talking to.

Mary tried to look pleased. "Volkoff's men–" her men "–must have missed a tracker when they took him. I guess it's a good thing you're here to take me to prison, otherwise I'd have to punish them all."

"Yes, I…heard that you run his secret prison system."

"I do a lot of things." Mary stared at her hands. "Volkoff wouldn't be anything like what it is today, without me."

"You mean an emerging power in the international illegal arms trade, in the wake of the Ring's collapse?"

Now Mary did look pleased. "Is that what it looks like?"

"That's what it looks like," said Sarah. "And you just took credit for it."

Mary nodded. "So, what's the plan? It seems you don't need me as a bargaining chip with Volkoff anymore."

"Simple. We take you to Castle, throw you in a hole, I go get my husband. Then we all go back to DC, throw you in a hole, and I go home with my husband."

"Your hands are shaking."

"I'm relieved."

"Of course you are, dear."

* * *

No one met them at the airport. No one answered on the comms.

Sarah called Hannah.

"Thank God you called," said her friend, on speaker. "We really need you to get over here right away."

With a gesture Sarah dispatched Carina to get transport. "What's the matter?"

"We've had a murder in Castle."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N** The triangular floppy was one of the most obvious ploys in the world. The second they mentioned it at the start of the episode I knew it would be central to the plot, so I turned it into a much less obvious plot device here. I wish I could have done more with Tuttle, but he was pretty perfect the way he was presented in canon. I only changed his appearance at the bank because I had to. Frost gets in a moment of honesty here, too.

* * *

"You want _me_ to take point?"

"No, Carina, I want Frost to take point," said Sarah. "Of course it has to be you, Hannah and I are friends, I can't be objective. I can think of a lot of things Hannah may be to _you_ –"

Carina looked out the window, unhappy. "But 'friend' isn't one of them."

"Yes, but she's not an enemy, either, and you respect her, if nothing else." Sarah drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, impatient at the light. If this had been a company car she'd at least have had a missile to clear traffic. "Besides, I have to go get Chuck. If everyone in Castle is together in the briefing room, no one's monitoring his signal. He could be anywhere by now."

"Not given where he was, and where he was headed," said Carina, purposely vague in front of the prisoner. "All right, I'll take the case, since it's not be a cold crime scene. I hate cold crime scenes. And I want some proper groveling when I solve it without you."

"Yes, Sherlock," said Sarah, in a 'sure, sure' voice calculated to get the most out of her partner's ego. "Feel free to give Ellie a call when, I mean, if you get stuck. Or better yet, when I get back with Chuck–"

Carina sniffed. _Hmmp._ "He can watch you grovel, or be right down there on his knees with you, depending on how far you've poisoned his mind against me."

"I would never–!" Sarah clamped her lips together, glaring impartially at the world for letting Carina score one off of her. Well, not entirely impartially. She noticed Frost's expression in the mirror, one part sympathy, two parts…laboratory experiment. "And you! Shut it!"

Frost dropped any semblance of sympathy, and that suited Sarah just fine.

* * *

The Buy More parking lot was full, as always. "We aren't going to have to go in there, are we?" asked Carina.

Sarah drove slowly down the lane between the cars, just to draw out the suspense. "What's the matter, Carina? Afraid that Jeff and Lester have forgotten you?"

Carina could remember the creepy duo very well. "No, I'm afraid they'll remember me." She shuddered. "Good God, what is that?"

"What is what?" asked Sarah, looking the other way for a turn.

"It looked like a guy in a big green box with BM on the front. He–what the hell? What just happened?"

At a Buy More, could be anything. "I don't know, you tell me."

"A big van just pulled up in front of him, and now he's gone! We just saw a kidnapping!" She pulled out her phone.

"Carina."

The redhead looked up.

"That's the Buy More. You're better off not getting involved. Just…let whatever happens in the shopping center, stay in the shopping center." The car moved steadily away from whatever chaos unfolded behind them. "Fortunately, you'll be happy to know that the Orange Orange, with its primary access to Castle, is still open, thanks to generous public support," said Sarah, pulling up in back of the yogurt shop.

"The sign said 'closed'," said Carina.

"It would, wouldn't it?" replied Sarah, as they got out of the car. "With everyone locked down in Castle there's no one to open the door."

Carina stared in the window. Retail. Ugh. "You guys even staff the place?"

Sarah smiled. "Hannah handles the assignments. Each week she totals up the number of rules broken or protocols violated, and the worst offender is assigned to counter duty."

"They had a one hundred twenty seven percent performance improvement in the first month."

"Exactly." Sarah flipped up a secret decorative stone, and pressed her hand against the hidden pad.

The door buzzed, and unlocked. Carina pulled it open. "You're in the system?"

"This was my second cover job here," said Sarah, escorting Frost inside. "Believe me, after the first one I appreciated the upgrade."

"Yeah, you reeked of burnt sausage." Carina pulled the door shut, and felt the locks engage. "But shouldn't your prints have been deleted when you moved back to DC?"

"In any decently run, well-managed CIA substation, yes."

"Lucky for us this is Castle."

"Unlucky for someone," said Frost unexpectedly. "Killing in the line of duty is bad enough, but someone is dead down there who shouldn't be. You ladies might want to remember that."

"Look who's talking," said Sarah, handing the prisoner off to Carina as she walked to the freezer.

"In the illegal arms trade, one generally doesn't have to worry about killing innocents," said Frost calmly.

"Like that makes it better," said Carina, answering since Sarah was busy staring into the retinal scan.

The rear freezer door opened with a gust of fog as warm air met cold. Sarah pulled it all the way. The freezer must have been very cold, she was shivering. "It's showtime."

* * *

"Ladies, gentlemen. I am Agent Carina Miller and I am heading up this investigation. Is that clear?"

All eyes turned to the diminutive brunette seated at the head of the table. She looked at Sarah. Sarah shook her head. She nodded her understanding. "It's clear, Agent Miller. How do you plan to proceed?"

Agent Miller turned to her partner, who said, "Hannah" in a soft but clearly audible voice. Not that Carina didn't know who Hannah was, they'd met at Sarah's wedding ceremony, but they didn't want that fact to be obvious.

"My plan, Hannah, is to start at the beginning. In this case that is the body, probably the only thing in the base I can be sure isn't going to lie to me. We are going to secure our prisoner and then check the crime scene. You all will remain here under your own watchful gazes, until I return."

"'Until _you_ return'? What's she gonna be doing?" said one of the agents, pointing at Sarah.

A valid enough question. "We have a mission," said Carina. "My partner is going to leave us all locked in here while she goes to complete it. I expect to have this business all wrapped up by the time she gets back."

"You sound pretty confident," said Hannah.

"I am. Right now all of you are suspects. I expect the body will allow me to cross a few of you off my list, and we'll go from there."

"Wait, why are we _all_ suspects?" asked another man. "We've been here for months," he continued, pointing at some of them. Then he waved at a cluster of younger faces, a blond male, a dark-skinned man with a beard, and a young woman. "We get these new guys and a week later one of them is dead. It don't take no genius to figure out one of them did it."

"Well, you're certainly the non-genius for the job," said Carina. She looked at Hannah. "Be right back."

At the cells, Sarah thumbed open the door and Carina marcher Frost inside, removing the restraints under Sarah's watch. "Sit. Stay."

Frost stayed, but didn't sit. "You realize I have to at least try to escape?"

Naturally Carina expected it, she just didn't expect her prisoner to be quite so blunt about it. Cover or not, Volkoff would certainly expect the attempt, but this was so not the time. "You do and I'll shoot you, Chuck's mother or no. I have enough to do, locked in here with these pinheads." She stepped back and watched Frost sit as Sarah locked the door.

On their way to the crime scene, Sarah asked, "Do you really want me to lock you in?"

Carina looked shocked, as if Sarah had just questioned her courage. "Of course I do. After you add my prints to the system so I can get out again, though."

* * *

When they returned to the briefing room, they found an argument going on with full force, only Hannah and another young man still seated where they had been. Hannah was rubbing her head tiredly, but when she noticed Carina she shouted, "Attention on deck!" The two senior agents suddenly came to attention, and the noise level in the room dropped considerably.

Carina looked them all over. "Would you two stand up, please?"

Hannah and the young man stood.

Carina nodded. "Good. You two, with me."

"Why them?" challenged one of the agents, as the designated pair walked behind Carina.

"The victim was tall, the knife went in straight, with the blade vertical, so it would have had to force ribs apart and probably get stuck." She pointed at the two she'd just cleared. "They're too short to make such a wound with the power needed, unless the victim let them bring up a step-ladder first, which I doubt he did. It had to have been one of you."

The remaining five suspects stared at each other.

Suddenly the dark-skinned young man started shouting. "Oh, I get it. Let's blame the swarthy, bearded guy!" He pulled away from the group. "This is just what my face looks like!" He pointed at Sarah. "We can't all look like swimsuit models, you know. Just so typical. Even if she'd been here and she'd done it, you still wouldn't suspect her!"

"Damian, please," said Sarah. "It's not–"

"Save it," he said curtly. "I'm outta here."

As he stalked from the room, Sarah turned to her 'boss.' "Should I go after him?"

"Why bother?" asked Carina. "He seems to have forgotten what 'lockdown' means. He'll be back. You go on and get our guys."

Sarah stuck her hands in her pockets. "Right." She cleared her throat. "Right, um, Hannah, I need a signal tracked. Which one of you–?"

"I'll do it," said her friend.

"Great."

* * *

"Sarah?" said Hannah's voice over the secured channel.

"Go ahead, Hannah."

"We just lost the signal." The car swerved, and Sarah almost missed the next few words. "I analyzed the coordinates. There's a bank near that location, it's possible they went inside."

"He jumped out of a plane to go to a bank?"

"It's the only explanation that makes sense of the loss of signal. Unless he went into the sewers."

Sewer or bank? Sewer or bank? Unfortunately there was only one of her. "I'll check the bank, I think."

* * *

And there he was, her wonderful, wonderful husband. Tall, strong, a bit rumpled but who wouldn't be after the day they'd–wow, this was all only one day? Less than a day. _Carina was right, I_ am _that bad_. "Chuck!"

"Sarah!" said Chuck, before she crashed into him and took his breath away in every possible sense.

"I'm guessing this is the missus you were telling me about," said a man with a strong English accent, after a moment. "It's true what they say, isn't it? True love is felonious. It robs you of the ability to utter a single word. It steals a heart. Truly, Charles, you are to be envied."

Chuck pulled back and gazed into that pair of blue eyes that owned his soul, before Sarah closed them and lay her head on his chest. "Don't I know it." He ran his hands lightly up and down Sarah's back. "Hey, you're trembling."

That wasn't trembling, that was his heartbeat resonating through her. _Lub. Dub._ Sarah murmured, "I lost you."

Chuck laughed, lightly. "Well, you can't have lost me too bad, since here you are." He turned toward Tuttle, and Sarah opened her eyes. "My Shakespeare-quoting friend is Gregory Tuttle."

"Not Shakespeare, Charles," said Tuttle, in low tones. "It's Jodi Picoult. I've never read any Shakespeare, but please don't noise that about." He looked around, as if expecting the Shakespeare police to arrest him. "It's the accent, you see. Everybody who hears it thinks I should know what comes after 'to be or not to be', and I've never even _seen_ Romeo and Juliet. They'd drum me right out of MI-6 if they knew."

"Well, you're in America now, " said Chuck. "Not knowing what comes after 'to be or not to be' is pretty much a national pastime, so I wouldn't worry about it getting back across the pond." Chuck clapped him on the shoulder. "Your secret is safe with us. It's the least we can do for the man who's going to clear my mother's name."

Tuttle brightened, brandishing his envelope like a sword. "Right you are, Charles! Just as soon as we get to London."

Sarah frowned. "Why London?"

Tuttle opened the envelope and pulled out a triangle-shaped floppy disk. "Frost was paranoid about this information being leaked, so she made me put it onto this. She said the computer was going defunct, so no one would be able to read it except us. MI-6 has the only one I know of, in London."

Chuck took the disk. "This is a disk for a Phalanx XR-12 computer. We don't have to go to London, there's another one right here in LA."

"Where, in a museum?"

Chuck was about to reply when a shotgun blast ripped through the building, turning patrons and tellers alike into a squealing, scurrying mob. Sarah reacted by reflex, tripping her husband and taking him down to the ground behind a desk. He grabbed Tuttle on the way, and they all fell together.

"You're kidding," said Chuck. "A bank robbery? Right now?"

Sarah bristled. "Seems a little coincidental, don't you think?" She had to get Chuck out of here, right now.

"It's not a robbery, Charles," said Tuttle, looking out from behind a low railing. "It's Volkoff's men, and that indestructible woman."

"You're saying they followed us? That they knew where we were all this time?"

"It worked for the Death Star, Charles," said Tuttle. "It's not like we had a tracker-sniffer available to us under all the sheep. They must be after the disk!"

Chuck's eyes narrowed. _They can't have it._

Sarah rolled her eyes. "There's five of them, and two of us. With no backup!"

"You do have surprise on your side," pointed out Tuttle.

"I don't think they're just gonna let us walk out the door, Sarah," added Chuck.

Sarah thought fast. They had to save the disk, but they had to do it before the police showed up and slowed their escape to a crawl. "Fine. Follow my lead."

"Fine," said Chuck.

"Fine," said Tuttle, "But I'll stay back here. I'm just a handler."

"Right," said Chuck. "He's just a handler."

"Right," said Sarah. "Get ready."

Chuck flashed.

* * *

"That's very sloppy work," said Casey. "Are we sure it isn't a trap?"

"So what if it is?" said Bentley. "You have two Gretas, each of them fully Intersect qualified, without any of Bartowski's…limitations."

"The target's moving live ordnance into a major metropolitan center."

"Bomb disposal is an Intersect skill, I'm sure your friend Chuck could tell you that. The only thing that will have a 'bang' on this mission will be the start of our new Greta program, earlier than even I'd anticipated." While Team Bartowski's career will end without even a whimper.

Too soon. "We need Chuck," said Casey.

"We _need_ the Intersect. Even in Bartowski, it made _real_ operatives like you and my Gretas, second-string players. Now that we've leveled the playing field, Bartowski can go back to the Buy More, where he belongs. Best be off, Colonel. International terrorists don't capture themselves, you know."

* * *

Tuttle took the bullet. Sarah called it in as Chuck lay the wounded man on the floor, propped up against a desk.

"Hannah, we've got a man down! Tuttle. He got us the disk but he's been shot. Mobilize the EMTs. We have to go…No, the disk will have to wait, we can't even read it…It's triangular, that's why…it's not like she's going anywhere…We have to get ready for Volkoff."

"…have to go…" muttered Tuttle weakly. "…save Frost…"

"What?" asked Chuck, tucking the triangular disk into his pocket. "Volkoff's coming _here_?"

Sarah held up a hand, and he stopped talking while she listened. "It's not Volkoff?...All right, what can you tell me about this Pichushkin?...Oh, God." She looked up at Chuck. "Live ordnance." Back down to the phone. "Do you know when or where?...Okay, we're on it. You support Carina, don't let her bold front fool you." She ended the call and stood up. "Dragan Prichushkin is bringing a live bomb of unknown magnitude into the center of the city." Which is not where they were. She started walking toward her rental, making up for its lack of speed as best she could.

Chuck sighed, and touched his pocket. "Sorry, Mom." He ran after his wife.

Behind them, Gregory Tuttle opened his eyes.


	25. LA Story

**A/N** This is the only time I use Jeff and Lester, or the Buy More, in any way. I'm not sure if it suited a weird story, or if the story became weird because the Buy More was in it.

And I always thought the fruit juice solution to the nuke was a stupid one.

* * *

The kidnapping of the manager had made no appreciable difference to the normal daily routine of the Buy More, no surprises there. Traffic was light at that hour, as always. The green shirts still slacked off whenever possible, the Nerd Herders still directed customers away from themselves whenever possible. The only real change was that today they could all claim to have been devastated by the loss of their beloved leader to those Large Mart goons.

When the beautiful blonde walked in the door, she naturally drew the attention of every person there. As far as (most of) the women were concerned, it was simple jealousy. For the men, waiting on her would be the closest they could hope to get to such a hot babe, even though they all knew they had no chance of getting any closer, with a large chance of being told to keep an even greater distance for pretty much the rest of their lives. Most of them suffered in silence. The greater the beauty, the greater the smackdown, and the derision awaiting them in the breakroom would be even more cruel than usual. Only the most clueless, most desperate, or most self-deluded, would dare approach such a person.

Jeff and Lester headed right over. "Good evening, madam," said Lester at his most obsequious. "How may we…service you tonight?"

She smiled at them, something that never happened. They froze, suddenly even more clueless than usual. "Could you gentlemen show me where the Home Theater room is? I really need to get those new sub-woofers I heard about." Her voice got low and growly. "I can't wait to feel those vibrations just go right through me." She touched the skinny one's arm.

"Jeffrey!" shrieked Lester, the pitch of his voice setting dogs barking for a block around. He pulled away from her, trying to mask the fear with a swift adjustment to his tie. He brushed greasy hair from his eyes. "Jeffrey, my good fellow," he continued as his smarmiest. "Let us show this fine lady to her destination, where we may hopefully see to all of her needs."

Jeff had just enough brains to talk and leer at the same time. "And maybe she can see to some of ours."

Lester flung up a hand. "Enough of that," he commanded, adding as an aside, "Or at least save it for the install. This fine young woman is obviously cut from different cloth." He turned back to his client. "Please pay no attention to my associate, ma'am, when Bennigans is closed he doesn't know what he's saying." He made a sweeping gesture, pushing Jeff out of the way as he indicated the lady's destination. "Your Home Theater awaits."

She sauntered past and they hung back as they followed her, admiring the view. The rest of the crew watched in stunned amazement, that any woman would allow herself to occupy a confined space with Jeff and Lester at the same time.

"Jeffrey," said Lester, "Draw those pesky curtains while I help this woman with those vibrations."

Jeff frantically fumbled his way through the complex process of drawing the blinds closed, finishing just in time to hear Lester exclaim, "You're so pretty!" He turned and she was right there, injection gun in hand, a newer model than his own. When the needle went in and she pulled the trigger, he knew he'd found his perfect woman. Hopefully she'd still be there when he woke up.

* * *

Carina sat at the table, hands around a mug of coffee, a far cry from her usual cafe latte with its twist of lemon. "This looks so much easier on TV." At least they had Sweet 'n' Low. When the last suspect, Josie, suddenly broke down in front of them during her interview, Carina was convinced it was a psy-ops ploy until Hannah found the pregnancy test stick in her bag. Then it was break time, as fast as possible.

For them, that is. Lewis had fled the break room as fast as they'd appeared.

"Lucky for you Sarah's trying to get to the airport. At this time of day it'll be a while before she gets back here." Hannah sat across from her, smearing cream cheese on a day-old onion bagel she'd just rehabilitated in the microwave. All the fresh ones were upstairs." Everything looks easy on TV. Unless it's a subject you know, and then it just looks stupid."

Her boyfriend snickered. "Just talk to any elevator man about Die Hard."

"I like Die Hard!" said the AIC, not his fiancée for once.

"Well, duh," he agreed, sort of. "Everybody likes Die Hard. But the tech isn't what you might call realistic."

"At least there's tech," grumbled Carina. "On crime shows all you ever see is somebody being brilliant. That's not exactly a learnable skill."

"Being brilliant like Sherlock, no," said Hannah, seeing what Sarah meant by 'bold front'. "Being brilliant like _Carina_ , definitely right up your alley."

"According to Sarah, my skill set is making hash of someone else's plans."

"Which sounds good to me," said the boyfriend, who was cute and taken, dammit. "Since our murderer has a plan we'd like to see hashed."

"Unless this was a one-off," said Hannah, just because. "And poor Brody was killed simply for being too nice and friendly."

No one believed that, especially not Carina. Not even Casey would kill over that. Unless Brody simply wouldn't leave him alone. _Hmm, alone._ "Maybe he wasn't killed for being Brody, maybe he was killed for being _there_."

"In a hall?" That's where all the blood was.

"In a hall," said Carina. "Where someone else was, and Brody, being Brody, couldn't help but stop and stick his nose where the killer didn't want it."

"So you're thinking this was a crime of oppor–"

Something outside made a very loud noise, and all the lights went out.

* * *

The floor shook, making the louvers dance. The blonde agent listened carefully, but no one outside the Home Theater room seemed to notice, or care if they did. Californians. Still, the wise agent recognizes when opportunity is knocking.

The gun went back into her bag and a smoke grenade came out, ready to do its noxious worst. She opened the door to the room, unnoticed by all who had no desire to see anything Jeff and Lester might be up to. The grenade fell to the floor but the tab didn't, and as the smoke started to emerge she pulled the fire alarm and shut the door.

Five minutes later she walked through the empty store and tripped the locks, killing the alarms. If she let them run much longer, even emergency services might sit up and take notice. She pulled a phone from her pocket. "We're secure."

* * *

Chuck grabbed at Sarah's phone when the emergency signal went off. At the moment she was trying to drive them across the city at rush hour, so she really didn't need the distraction. Even a road-clearing missile wouldn't have helped, since she'd have used it by now. At least the pedestrians were in no danger , since the car was slightly wider than the sidewalks.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Fire and seismic sensors were tripped," he reported.

"An earthquake?" In an underground base.

"Checking." He tapped into the USGS data feed, but it didn't show any recent activity in that area. "Not seeing one." He tried the phone. "Not connecting."

"They're in lockdown. Try the secure link."

"Why are they in lockdown?" He tried the secure link. "Either it's an even more secure link than you thought, or the connection is broken. End result's the same either way." He waited a second, but she didn't say anything. "Why are they in lockdown?"

"A death in the family. Carina's investigating."

Three different snide remarks popped into his head, but he suppressed them all. " _Carina's_ solving this?"

She willed her frown his way, since she couldn't exactly frown at him. "You think she can't?"

Chuck smiled and said, "Absolutely I do", because he was smart.

"Good," said Sarah. "Because she can and she will."

* * *

Carina held a napkin to her mouth, to avoid choking on all the dust in the air. "You check on your team. I have to go check on my prisoner." She also had to check on the armory, and make sure no one had tried to get in since she'd sealed it, but pointing that out would have been rude.

The cell block seemed undisturbed. Frost stood by the door, but out of curiosity rather than panic. The view from Castle's cell-block was much better than the one in DC.

"Are you all right?" asked Carina.

"Are you kidding?" said Frost. "This is the sturdiest place in the base. I'm safer than you are."

"Rub it in, why don't you?" Carina drew her gun, the only one not secured, and took aim. Frost raised her hands. Carina hit the switch, and the door opened. She hit it again, putting her gun away after it closed. "Good. At least I can get you out of there, in case there are any more aftershocks."

Frost shook her head. "That wasn't an earthquake, Agent Miller. That was a bomb."

* * *

Jets move faster than cars, despite Sarah's best efforts. The plane was on the ground and braking before she found a gate to ram the car through. The CIA was going to have to buy the rental company a new one anyway. The facility was small, but it was also after dark and she didn't know the layout. Mainly she tried to find a path in the general direction the plane had been taking before they lost sight of it. Not only was this stupid rental slower than her beloved Porsche, it was also higher off the ground, and she didn't want to chance hitting anything.

The sounds died away on both sides of one hangar, the jet coming to a halt on one side, their car on the other. Sarah didn't even bother telling Chuck to stay in the car. Between the Intersect and his tranq pistol he was almost more effective than she was with her regular pistol, more so if she factored captured prisoners versus dead bodies into the equation.

Light and sound were on their side, as they skulked around the side of the hangar in complete silence. Out on the field some people dressed as airport employees were moving boxes, and the plane had to have more guards inside it. Sure enough, once the plane came to a complete stop the door opened, and people carrying guns poured out onto the field.

Chuck lifted the side view mirror he'd pulled off of what was left of their car, and checked around the corner. "There's five guys, Sarah. We're outmanned and outgunned."

Sarah checked the glass. "Five guys?" she snorted in derision. "Five idiots. You could take them yourself."

"Idiots with machine guns."

"Look how they're holding them, Chuck. Look how they're standing. They've lined themselves up to be shot, while holding their guns as if they were movie props." Movement drew her eye, but it was just the wands of the field controller.

Wait a minute. The plane was stopped. Why was the field controller even there? And where were the two stevedores?

The two 'airport employees' leapt up from concealment and started shooting, their little handguns taking out three of the guards before the other two could get their larger guns pointing the right way. Their targets didn't wait for this, ducking and rolling to new cover, opening fire before the last guards could reacquire their targets. In seconds five men were down, their primary frozen in the doorway of the plane.

"Holy crap!" said Chuck, "Those two are like Terminators, they just took out five guys in the blink of an eye."

The field controller moved behind his men. "Welcome to America, Mr. Pichushkin!"

Chuck stuck his head out to peer around the corner. "That's Casey's voice."

Sarah traded places. "What's _he_ doing here?"

The man continued down the steps, approaching Casey and his team–his _team_?–with one arm up. The other held a silver case.

"Let me take your luggage," sneered Casey.

The arms dealer knelt, putting the case on the ground. "It's yours." He opened it.

"What the hell? Chuck!" said Sarah, pointing. "They're flashing!"

Chuck looked at Casey's team. "They're what?"

"Flashing!" Sarah fiddled with her watch, looking for their frequency. "They're Intersects too."

"Is that really what I look like?"

"Oh my god. I just heard them say 'fission' and 'fireball'."

Chuck wasn't on the network but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. "I just heard Casey say 'suitcase nuke'."

Dragan had taken advantage of everyone's shock to reach a hand inside his coat. "You have bomb. I have detonator. I think it's best we part ways, yes?"

Sarah didn't like the look of those guns pointed Dragan's way, far too steady for her taste. Dunwoody's reputation around the office was none too positive, and if the other one was anything like her…"Casey, let him go! I've got eyes on Dragan," she said into her mike.

Casey didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't acknowledge that he'd heard her in any way. "You can't run far enough, or fast enough," he said to Dragan.

The Russian turned and ran. Sarah ran to cut him off.

"Sir," said Dunwoody, seeing the glory slip through her fingers once again, "Agent Walker isn't supposed to be here!"

"Then I'll let you explain that to Agent _Bartowski_ when you help her catch the bad guy, Captain. Go." He dismissed her from his attention. "Captain Noble, I need you to disarm this, now."

Noble knelt before the case, gingerly moving components, futilely searching for any matching data in the Intersect. "This thing is a Frankenstein, sir. There's nothing in the Intersect about how to disarm this."

Casey lifted his watch, resetting the frequency. If Sarah was in LA, it stood to reason Chuck would be on overwatch. "Eagle-Eye, are you on line?"

"No, Colonel, I'm at your five, twenty meters."

Casey turned around. "Then get over here, numbskull." When Chuck got within grabbing distance Casey grabbed him, pushing him to his knees. "Fix that."

"Ho, ha," said Chuck, staring into the case. "I don't know anything about disarming suitcase nukes."

* * *

Captain Victoria Dunwoody ran up behind the Russian, going toe-to-toe with Agent Walker. _That's right, Walker. You just stand there while I take him down._ She flashed.

"No! Don't!" shouted Sarah.

Jealous Victoria said _He's mine_ , Professional Victoria said _I'm trying._ Neither of them knew how to stop the flash.

* * *

Gunfire sounded in the distance.

The numbers on the readout started counting down. "I don't know anything about disarming _live_ suitcase nukes," said Chuck.

Casey raised his watch. "What the hell happened, Bartowski?"

"Your toy soldier just shot the detonator!"

"Explain that later. Get back here now!" said Casey. He turned to Chuck. "Now would be a good time to get started."

"You know I don't have the Intersect, right?"

"Well she does, and it's not helping," growled Casey. "But you were smart long before you ever got that damn program, Bartowski. Hopefully smart enough."

Chuck looked up at the tall woman. "You have the Intersect?"

Captain Noble nodded.

"Then what are you doing all the way up there? Get down here, Greta, I need an Intersect."

"You will call me Captain Noble."

"Get down here, Captain Noble, I need an Intersect."

It occurred to her to lose. For once. "Yes, sir," she said, getting back down on her knees.

Chuck flashed on his bomb-disarming skills, lifting out the primary device. "We're going to have to improvise our way through this one."

"Improvise?" said Noble, as if he'd just insulted her. "It's a nuclear bomb!"

Casey exercised his command authority. "Stow it, Captain."

Chuck held out the bomb. Captain Noble, using the same program, knew what she had to do next, and removed the detonator from the top. "All right, Captain," said Chuck, "What do you see?"

Noble flashed. "This detonator comes from a next-gen Chinese nuclear sub."

"A submarine?" repeated Chuck. She stared at him. "Right. A submarine. Let's use that."

"The only way a submarine would help us now is if it was carrying this bomb as far out to sea as possible."

"Right!" said Chuck excitedly, as if she'd said something brilliant. "Subs deploy in salt water! In case of a hull breach, these things have to have safeties to keep them from going off. We just need some salt water to deactivate it."

"We're miles inland," said Noble. "Where do you plan to find some salt water in an airport?"

Chuck had been very conscious of the answer to that question for a while now, but one doesn't put a race to the rescue on hold for a potty break. "Um…well…" He stood up, fumbling with his zipper. "You might want to turn your back for this part."


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N** I remember I was binge-watching Dexter at this point (never finished season 8) and took the material about blood spatter seriously when writing some of the scenes here. This chapter has a lot of people in motion for a lot of different plot lines, but no resolutions in sight. Bit it did what it had to do without making anyone act OOC, so that was a win in my book.

* * *

Most of the dust had settled by the time Carina approached ground zero. The smell of the explosives was stronger though. Carina stumbled over the rubble in her not-so-sensible shoes. "Hannah! What have we got?"

The dust made the other woman look older. "Briefing room two is wrecked. If we hadn't bailed on Josie's interview we'd have been in there. Damian's injured, but he's the only one."

"Good for us." Carina looked in the room. The table and their chairs were embedded in the wall. Josie's chair, parts of it anyway, were in the ceiling. "Better for her."

"That's one less we need to worry about, at least."

"Not necessarily," said Carina. "She could have planted the bomb as we left, to make it look like she was innocent."

Josie was psy-ops, so the theory couldn't be dismissed outright, but she wasn't a technical specialist. "I'm not hearing the ring of true belief in your voice."

Carina shrugged. "Didn't say I believed it, just that it was possible." Especially if she used her talents at manipulation to get someone else to make the bomb. "What happened to Damian?"

Hannah led the way to some blood spots in the hall. "Caught a piece of the doorframe in his leg."

"Conscious?"

Hannah nodded, wiping dusty hands on dusty pants. "Noisy, too. We found him pulling it out. Took more guts than _I'd_ have, that's for sure. I had the guys take him to the infirmary to get him bandaged up. They're good at _that_ , at least."

Carina looked around at the walls, the ceiling. "From the ring of true belief in your voice, I'm guessing you don't think either of them did this?"

Hannah sighed, taking advantage of the fact that the security in this hallway, at least, wasn't working at the moment. "They're getting better, but..."

That sigh went pretty far down. "But what?"

"Name it."

"Pass." She had bigger things to think about, like how the hell she was going to get any groveling out of Sarah after _this_ fiasco. "Well, all things considered, I guess I'll make an exception and go to the man than rather than make him come to me."

"The infirmary?"

"Yeah."

No way it was going to be that simple. "What do we do?"

"I'm glad you asked that…"

* * *

"He _what?_ "

Casey wasn't big on repeating himself, especially not now. "He peed on it, ma'am. Mr. Bartowski determined that the bomb would deactivate in salt water, and human urine is a pretty close match."

"I'm aware of that, Colonel."

"I consider it a typical display of his resourcefulness, initiative, and personal courage." _And I will so note in my report._

"Yes, thank you, Colonel." The phone developed a layer of ice.

Casey was just warming up. "Especially considering he was not in possession of the Intersect at the time–"

" _Enough_ , Colonel Casey." He could hear her fingernails drumming. "You will have to report this to General Beckman."

"Technically, no, ma'am. I have to report an overlap to you, and you would have to report it to her." And he would love to be there when she did, but it wasn't going to happen. Colonel Casey knew his duty, and it wasn't to Director Bentley. "In this case, however, I do believe it would be best to seize the high ground." Better if Beckman heard it from him than from Bentley, or even from Chuck.

"What 'high ground' would that be? My Gretas couldn't have failed more completely if they'd tried."

Casey eyed his two subordinates, to all appearances relaxed at parade rest, but he knew better. They weren't privy to her side of this conversation but they didn't have to be. "In my opinion, Captains Noble and Dunwoody performed exactly as required."

"They killed the man they were supposed to capture, and almost destroyed the city." She could, and would, argue that they didn't have a normal breaking-in period. Pichushkin's bomb wasn't on anyone's radar, so they had a reasonable expectation of some kind of shakedown cruise, at least. They had zero chance of a do-over now, not with this on their record.

"No, ma'am, the Intersect did that. Captain Dunwoody has already reported that she was unable to stop the Intersect from taking those shots, and having witnessed a number of similar Intersect events of a classified nature I am accepting that report."

"I read that one host almost killed Agent Walker," said Bentley. "I was under the impression that was a glitch in the software."

Agent Carmichael _was_ the glitch, a Frankenstein with a hundred different components. "You are correct, ma'am, but you were only made privy to the program files." Which were heavily redacted or intentionally wrong when it came to identities. With a curt gesture dismissed his Gretas to assist the cleaner teams while continued the briefing. "The problems I'm speaking of were not in the program, but in the men, including Carmichael himself."

No way she'd be able to access the personnel files of a dead Agency hero. "Agent Carmichael was one of our finest." No one could fault her Gretas for not living up to that kind of standard.

 _If only she knew._ But she didn't, and he wasn't about to tell her. "Even the finest can have flaws, Director, and the Intersect magnified those flaws. Carmichael was able to overcome them, with time and assistance. Our Gretas had neither."

Time, she thought. And assistance. She needed both. "Bring my Gretas home, Colonel." Let the Bartowski project go on a little longer. _He's going nowhere._ That was the beauty of it.

For once, Casey's reply was less than completely confident. "Well, about that, Director…"

* * *

Chuck drove as fast as he could, but CIA vans are made for stealth, not speed. Castle was still silent, so they needed the transport more than Casey's team did, especially with a cleaner team on the way. "Anything?"

Sarah was in the back, committing a technical violation of the rules by using the equipment while in transit. "Don't you think I would have told you if there was?"

Chuck heard the snap in her voice and chided himself for his insensitivity. With two of her friends in there, and some unknown disaster in the offing, she needed more support. "Don't worry, Sarah. We'll be there soon, and they'll be fine."

Behind him, Agent Walk– _Bartowski_ bared her teeth.

* * *

The loading bay hummed with activity, men and women bustling with purpose, moving heavy boxes full of complicated electronics. Needless to say, these weren't your typical Buy More employees. The only thing these men had in common with that crew was their complete disregard of the crumpled forms of Jeff and Lester, locked in the cage.

The middle of it all, the center of it all, the _purpose_ of it all: Volkoff.

Alexei Volkoff was in California, and he was not happy.

* * *

Carina ran her eyes over the bearded man's prostrated form. He actually looked pretty good from this angle. "Hello, Damian. How's the leg?"

He shifted it, groaning. "It's not going to stop me walking out of this place."

Moving around to the front, she seated herself by him, not quite in his easy field of view. "No, I expect the blast doors will take care of that." She got out her emery board, started filing her nails. "You seem awfully anxious to leave."

He twisted his head around to look at her, exactly as she intended. "Says the beautiful redhead. I got pretty tired of the way people looked at me a long time ago. I'm not even Arabic, I'm Greek!" He shook a hand, and gasped in pain. "I thought in the CIA it would be different, but the first sign of trouble, and I know who everyone's looking at."

"They're looking at the man who's acting like a paranoid nutjob," she muttered.

"It's not paranoia when they really are out to get you," said Damian, dropping his head to the thin mattress.

She looked up at his outburst. "How _did_ you get injured, anyway?"

"I ran into Lewis, coming out of the break room, and I asked him where Josie was. He said she was in Briefing 2 with you, so I went to wait for her."

" _Lewis_ said that?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"He left the break room because all of us were in it, that's why."

* * *

Volkoff strolled through the enemy stronghold, unconcerned.

A CIA base under a strip mall. Brilliant. Lots of strangers in constant motion, goods travelling in and out all day, and if you had to self-destruct the place who would even notice? Oh, it would make the news all right, what doesn't in America, but lose a dog down a well and it'll get bumped to the back pages faster than you can say Vladimir Putin.

And most Americans _couldn't_ say Vladimir Putin. Not correctly, anyway.

Predator's eyes scanned the room, noting the layout of the sensor domes, probable locations of weapon turrets, the very attractive Employee of the Month. Men with scanners roamed the aisles, looking for any and all access panels to the base below. Then his pet nerd came in, and settled naturally behind the Nerd Herd desk. Volkoff recognized its commanding position and occupied it himself. Interesting. From this location, the mirrors let him see everything, yet the manager's office was in the corner. Volkoff knew who really controlled this store, and that person was almost certainly not in the crowd of sheep milling about outside. Americans! One smoke grenade, a bit of yellow tape, and you could do anything you liked for as long as you needed.

Volkoff bent down close to his nerd's ear. "You have one minute. Impress me."

The geek smirked. "You didn't bring me along for my charming personality."

* * *

"All hands on deck," said Carina, striding into the main area. "We need to find Lewis."

Agent #1 put down his cards. "We do? You're trusting us now?"

"I think we can safely say Lewis is our killer. Why else lie to Damian and send him to his death?"

"That's simple," said the other agent, who appeared to specialize in simple. "He wouldn't let that Limey geek touch his boom-box."

"A boom-box?"

"Yeah. It don't play or nothing, 'cause it's full of sand, but he says it's got 'sentimental value'."

"Not much of a motive, if you ask me," said Hannah as she came into the room. "You want to know what _I_ think?"

Everyone there pulled out a notebook, except Carina, and waited with pencils at the ready.

"I think Brody's death wasn't planned, but he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Following Agent Miller's suggestion, I checked the murder site again, and guess what I found?"

None of the agents said anything. Her fiancé raised a hand. "Bombs?"

"Correct. Quite a few bombs in quite a few places, and Brody probably caught Lewis planting them. And our comm panel is trashed on the inside, which is probably why we haven't heard from Agent Walker."

* * *

"What do you mean, you can't raise them?" growled Volkoff less than a minute later. "How can I threaten them if they can't even hear me?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but all direct communications with Castle are non-functional. They weren't even trying to lock me out of the weapon systems. I don't think they know we're here, sir."

Volkoff spun the man's chair around. "Then I suggest you find me an indirect means of communication. If I have to resort to something messy, I won't miss your charming personality."

* * *

Carina said she should be in front because she had the gun, but Hannah didn't buy it. "You don't like me, do you?"

"Do I have to?" She looked left.

Hannah looked right. "No. I don't need to be friends with everyone I meet, but since you're Sarah's friend I just thought it would be nice for her if we could get along."

"You really don't want to go there. Sarah didn't get the short end of your stick." Although, truth be told, neither had Carina, but old habits die slowly.

"Are you sure? She didn't look so happy to me."

Carina rounded on her 'partner'. "Maybe when you've had your husband kidnapped you'll be an authority on what she should be looking like. Until then–"

"You're very perceptive."

Carina looked around, realizing where she was. _Oh, great._ She turned back to Hannah and stopped her from advancing on the voice. "You do not have clearance to speak to the prisoner."

"We're talking about Sarah, Agent Miller," said Frost. "Nothing sensitive, except possibly yourself."

"We'll go this way," said Carina, pointing back the way they'd come.

"You do know she's dying, don't you?"

Carina wheeled right around and walked into the cell block, not even caring that Hannah was right behind her. Neither of them saw someone else creep slowly up to the corner, listening intently. "Explain yourself."

Frost smiled at Sarah's two besties, united in common purpose. "I'm surprised you didn't notice it, Agent Miller. Maybe it's because I haven't spent as much time with my son's wife as you two have."

Carina noticed Hannah's jaw drop, but had no time to consider the paperwork involved. "Or maybe it's because her husband, your son, was kidnapped by your boss."

"I don't think so," said Frost calmly. "That wasn't her reaction the last time, now was it?"

For a moment Carina was tempted to find out how bulletproof these cell doors really were. "No," she ground out through clenched teeth. "It wasn't."

"The night I allowed you to capture me," said Frost, "She was exposed, wasn't she?"

"Exposed to what?" asked Hannah.

"Need to know, Analyst," replied Frost. "Well?"

Carina couldn't speak, torn between _Allowed to capture–!_ and what she suspected was coming. She nodded sharply, once. "The guy who made it survived."

"The guy who made it is insane, trapped in a nightmare of terror without end. Not much of an improvement, if you ask me. No antidote to his toxin was ever developed, but then I'm sure you know that."

"You said 'dying'." _Please let there still be time._

"I lied," said Frost. "I do that."

Hannah pushed forward, one hand on the thick glass. _Oh my god, Sarah!_ "So you recognize the symptoms."

"Oh, yes."

"Why are you telling us this if you work for the bad guys?" asked Hannah, not needing to know who the bad guys were.

"I work for the CIA, in deep cover, and I've spent the last twenty years earning a special place in Hell, trying to satisfy all of my various duties." Frost looked away, down, anywhere but at them. "It seems I have a little bit of a soul left after all."

"Her death would maintain your cover," said Carina. "But if that's so important, why send Chuck after Tuttle in the first place?"

Frost sat.

Carina wasn't falling for it. "Well?"

The older woman blew out a deep, long, tired breath. "Because I need him to know the truth. I'll be needing someone's prayers, someday. Someday _soon_ , I think, and I'd like them to be his."

 _Which you wouldn't get if you allowed his wife to die._ "If he forgives you by then."

Frost just nodded.

Something in the outer hall made a noise. Carina and Hannah raced for the entrance, but nothing was there. Carina raised her radio. "Did you guys hear something?"

"Noise in the air ducts," responded Josie.

"We got 'im, we got 'im," shouted one of the agents, unfortunately paired with each other, but Carina wasn't about to inflict either of them on Josie. A huge rolling clatter sounded, one of the emergency ladders deploying. "Don't move, Limey."

The Limey must not have moved. Silence echoed.

"Report, dammit!" yelled Hannah.

"It's a pig."

* * *

"Sir, I've got something."

Alexei Volkoff looked at the screen, but the rather haphazard collection of names and icons told him nothing. He hated knowing nothing. "What am I looking at?"

"This is the Buy More's network subdomain, its processes and endpoints, rendered graphically."

"Okay then, why am I looking at it?"

"There's a line here–" he pointed to it. "That connects to Castle. We find that and I can open all the doors. You can just waltz right in."

The graphic didn't show the physical location of the Buy More end. "Where is this connection?"

"I don't know where it used to be," said the geek smugly. "But I know where it is." He caressed his keyboard.

 _Make it come to you._ Volkoff could appreciate the attitude. "Good work. Now open the door so I can get what I came for."

The hacker pressed one key.

"Welcome to the Castle Mainframe Interface," said the computer's speaker in a pleasant female monotone. "How may I help you?"

* * *

"Who would hide a pig in an air duct?"

"We're under a Buy More, and you're asking that question?" Carina shook her head, amazed at somebody, really everybody. _You want to hide a pig, put it on a farm._ Suddenly her breath caught.

"What?"

"Where's your cooler?"

Hannah understood immediately. "This way."

The cooler was a storage unit for biological samples. It was also, in less fortunate times, a makeshift morgue. The small racks were empty, the big rack was not. Brody's body waited here, decently covered, until they could find his killer and send it home.

Carina reached out and pulled at the cloth, but she didn't have to pull it far. "Well. I think we can safely say Lewis is not our killer."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N** I once thought to do a story about Sarah's first meeting with Carina, but then Arya's Prayer's did it in his story 'Becoming' and I'm good with that one.

The Castle Mainframe Interface also gets another go, one of the best, funniest, and most useful gags they ever invented and then just threw away. A pity. And let's not forget the inexplicable failure of everybody in Castle to simply escape through the Orange Orange. I know they stopped using the O-O as a base at some point in the show, but they never said anything about closing off that exit.

* * *

"What do we do now?" asked Hannah, shivering from more than just the cold. Lewis had been garroted, from the look of him, his eyes wide and staring at her. She'd liked his eyes.

 _We save Sarah._ Carina's mind wrapped itself around that one thought and squeezed out an image of Ellie, standing in her office in her hazmat suit. She would know what to do. They had to call Ellie. They had to call her now. "Simple. I end the lockdown, and we call it in, get them started on an antidote."

Hannah shook her head. Another agent who needed a leash, but her heart was in the right place. "You can't end the lockdown until you solve the murder."

Carina grabbed her by the Nerd Herder tie and pulled her in close. "I can't let Sarah die. Or…lose her mind, or whatever it is she's doing."

Hannah gripped Carina's hand, but she knew better than to try and fight back, at least not physically. "Half an hour isn't going to make any difference."

"You think we can solve this that fast?"

"You said you'd solve it before she got back," Hannah reminded her. "You're not bailing on that promise, are you?" Sarah wouldn't, and she bet Carina wouldn't either.

And she won _._ Carina'd never bailed on a promise, or welched on a bet, not even the one with the glitter that got just _every_ where. Which is why she made very few promises, and a lot of bets.

Carina focused. She had to solve the murder. Both murders. "Grab that end of the cloth." They covered the two dead men together, but when they tried to leave the room, Carina was on point, gun ready.

For nothing. A crime of lost opportunity.

"You expected trouble?"

"The room had only one door," said Carina. Only one exit, and a killer somewhere on the other side of it. Lewis' last resting place may easily have been a trap, with him as the bait. "Better to expect trouble and not get it, than to get it when you don't expect it." Out into the hall. Check. Turn. Check.

Hannah imagined herself walking blindly into a hail of bullets, and shuddered. This was so not her thing. "Sound thinking. Not that a shootout was terribly likely."

Carina had released a few guns to the non-Lewises in the room, but limited the ammunition. The killer would have had do something more creative. Carina understood creative all too well. "What would you have done?"

Hannah had read the manual on the cooler, and knew what it could do. "I would have just blocked the door and turned the thermostat down."

Inefficient, but possibly effective. "Good thing the killer isn't as clever as either of us." Up the hall, to the first intersection, checking for tripwires all the way. They hadn't necessarily found all the bombs.

That sounded almost like a compliment. "Yes." It seemed to call for something more. "I'm glad you're here."

Carina tried to think of something positive for a response. "Good job with that vase, by the way."

Hannah lost a second, trying to figure out the apparent non sequitur. That night at the museum, another moment like this one, only more so. "Never again," she said. "I promised Sarah."

She wasn't ready to live in Sarah's world. _Our world_. "Yeah, well, all promises to Sarah are going to be null and void soon if we don't get a message out."

They had that much in common, at least. "My office is this way." Hannah started walking.

Carina ran to be ahead of her. "What good will that do us? We're in lockdown." The phones wouldn't work.

"Right," said Hannah, who'd managed to forget that. "But we can write an email and send it. The outbox will hold it until the lockdown is lifted, no matter when or how that happens. Even if we die first, Sarah will be safe."

"I like your plan better than mine," said Carina. "Let's do that."

"What was _your_ plan?"

"Shoot everybody and declare victory."

Hannah smiled at the overkill. "A bit drastic, don't you think?"

"One of these days I'll have to tell you the story of how Sarah and I first met," said Carina, deadly serious. "'Drastic' doesn't begin to cover it."

* * *

Meanwhile, up in the Buy More…

Volkoff's pet geek wasn't smirking any more. _"God damn it!"_

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that," said the computer for the umpteenth time, not sounding any sorrier than it had the first time. "Did you say 'cod gambit'?"

The red phone smashed on to the floor, joining a stapler, two once-damaged and now totally unrepairable radios, and the pencil cup. "No I didn't, you stupid machine!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that…"

The uproar drew the boss' attention. "Your inspired lack of success continues unabated, I see." He made an unhappy sigh. "I wanted the Piranha, you know, or maybe the Octopus, but try finding hackers of their caliber when they don't want to be found."

The geek nodded. His reputation was down there on the floor, right next to the first radio.

Volkoff made a hand gesture, and his team by the hidden elevator lit their torches. He glared at his employee. "You will wish you had remained in your grey, nameless cubicle in the private sector. Your incompetence has cost me dearly, but not nearly as much as it will soon cost you." He smiled, which only made the geek more nervous. "I will give you to Frost, right after I tell her who it was that condemned her to an additional quarter hour in CIA custody. On this you have the word of Alexei Volkoff."

"Voice print confirmed."

Both men looked down at the laptop.

* * *

Carina stood in the doorway of Hannah's office, watching as the other teams came back to the central meeting room. Hannah's fingers were rattling off keystrokes like machine-gun fire behind her. "Are you done yet?"

"Almost," said Hannah. "I've never written an eyes-only to a General before, just trying to be complete."

"She won't thank you."

"Well, duh."

* * *

"Sir," whispered the geek.

Volkoff looked up at him, and the geek made a talking gesture with his hand, pointing at the grill of the computer's microphone. "Say your name again."

He bent down and enunciated as clearly as any third-grade English teacher could have wished. "I am Alexei Volkoff."

"Greetings, Alexei Volkoff," said the C.M.I. in its bright, chipper monotone. "You are a wanted international criminal. The proper authorities have been notified. Please stay where you are until qualified personnel arrive to take you into custody. Your cooperation is appreciated. Have a nice day."

Authorities. Volkoff frowned at his underling.

"Hey, that's a good thing, right?" said the geek, terrified. "The proper authorities are right underneath us, aren't they? The computer just told them you were here, isn't that what you wanted?"

Volkoff rumbled thoughtfully. "You are correct." He grinned. "Now find me a phone so I can scare the pants off of them." He chuckled in anticipation.

The geek looked down at the smashed red phone at his feet, eager rictus grin fading.

* * *

The equipment in the back of the van made a rude noise, and Sarah got up to teach it some manners. "Chuck?"

"Yes?"

"We just got an automated alert from Castle. It says Alexei Volkoff is in the Buy More."

Warp factor five! "Two secretive Russian arms dealers on the same day?" _Sounds like an episode of 24._

"One with an armed nuclear weapon." She moved up behind his chair, so she wouldn't have to yell.

 _Okay, a 24 mini-series._ "A bit of overkill, don't you think?"

Volkoff came for Frost, so Pichushkin came for Volkoff? "Half a city to get one man?"

"Not his city, is it? Volkoff's taken out a lot of the smaller fry over there. If Pichushkin could take _him_ out, he'd pretty much have the country to himself."

"A prize like that is worth the price of admission," mused Sarah. "Good thinking, sweetie. I'll send it to Beckman." She started to turn back to the encrypted transmitter.

"It was just a _thought_."

Sarah smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. "A Chuck Bartowski thought is worth ten facts from anyone else. The General knows this, even if you don't."

* * *

Somewhere else, at a small, nondescript airport…

An underling came out of the dark. "Colonel." He held out a slip of paper, folded and unread.

Casey took the letter and dismissed the bearer, before he opened and read it, with an suspicious grunt. "Since when did Castle get an automated alert system?"

Eager ears caught the word 'alert'. "Another mission, sir?"

"Not for you," said Casey, crushing the paper in his fist. He pointed to a very large, heavy, warning-covered box currently being loaded on to a transport. "You two are escorting a disarmed nuclear weapon to disposal, Captain. This is just some unpleasant family business. Give Director Bentley my regards." Without another word, he turned and left to hitch a ride up to Burbank.

* * *

Hannah stood up, her note properly documented, referenced, encrypted, and sent. They'd done all they could for Sarah, now they had to find a killer. As she left the room, a light started flashing on her desk, and a monitor lit.

Carina accepted Hannah's flash drive, and stuck it in her pocket absently. "Lady, Gentlemen. We found Lewis."

Everyone looked relieved, no one looked worried or surprised. "Unfortunately, he was dead, so we're back to square one, but with more clues, and fewer suspects."

Guns came out, two against one as Hannah's fiancé, unarmed, fled the field entirely.

"I know it wasn't me," said Josie, "But the two of you together maybe have a whole brain between you, so it had to be you."

"Ditto," said one of her opponents.

"Except that there's only one of you," said the other.

"Attention on deck!" shouted Hannah, and the two agents came immediately to attention, guns pointed safely at the floor. They both stared down the barrel of Josie's gun.

"Dammit."

"I hate it when she does that."

"Josie," said Carina, taking aim at the younger woman. "I'd be very careful about what I did right now, if I were you. You see, I know who the killer is."

Josie switched targets, pitting her two bullets against a lot more than two. "It wasn't me."

"Relax," said Carina. "I know that."

"Then why are you pointing your gun at me?"

"You have yours out and aimed, Agent."

Josie looked at her hands. "Oh." She lowered her weapon. "How did you know it wasn't me?"

"Something Hannah said earlier," said Carina, pulling her own arms in. "So far this killer has been very direct, but you don't _do_ 'direct'. You're psy-ops . You manipulate others to do your killing for you."

Josie didn't dispute the claim. "What about the bomb? That wasn't direct."

"If things had gone as planned, the bomb would have taken out all of us in the room, while the killer would have had time to kill Lewis and hide his body. Everyone left would assume Lewis was the killer and had somehow escaped, and ended the lockdown. By the time anybody knew differently the real killer would have been long gone."

Josie scoffed. "Have to be pretty stupid to buy that." Then her eyes widened.

"Exactly," said Carina.

"It's not polite to talk about people behind their backs, Agent Miller."

Everyone turned, guns coming up. A swarthy, bearded guy stood by a door, holding a boombox in one hand and a push-button in the other.

"Hello, Damian," said Carina. "How's the leg?"

"I told you, it's not going to stop me walking out of this place."

"And I told you–"

"Blast doors, yes, I remember. So I thought–" he pushed a button on his box and panels flipped out, revealing blocks of explosives, and a timer "–how about we test those doors?"

"They don't have to be stronger than that bomb, Damian," said Carina with a smirk. "They just have to be stronger than you, and I doubt you're that eager to die."

Hannah chimed in. "All you ever really wanted was to blow the place and get away, but Brody caught you and you had to kill him to buy time."

Damian smirked back. "Don't give up your day job, Watson. I planned all along to kill Brody."

Hannah blinked. "You did?"

"But he was so nice," said Josie.

"Please, all that touchy-feely crap made my skin crawl." Damian shuddered dramatically. "If I had to kill somebody, I wanted it to be him. Fortunately he's as predictable as he is eco-friendly. Practically walked onto my knife."

"But why did you have to kill him?" asked Hannah's other half. "Why did you have to kill _any_ body?"

Damian kept quiet. He might still get his chance, if they didn't know.

"He needed a murder," said Carina.

"How can you _need_ a murder?"

"Because we were his target," said Carina, pointing at herself. "Not even us, just Sarah. He hasn't even _tried_ to kill me, except incidentally. A murder in a CIA base would have, should have, brought the most senior CIA agent on site to investigate, where he could kill her and presumably escape. There was only one thing wrong with his little plan."

"It didn't work?"

"Oh, it worked. But he didn't know Sarah had to recuse herself, or that she would lock us all in. He had only one chance, and when that failed, he found himself caught in his own trap and had to use the bomb just to get out."

"What chance did he have?" asked the fiancé.

"He called her out," said Hannah, remembering everything Damian and Sarah had done together, which wasn't much. "He threw a tantrum, and called her a swimsuit model. Probably hoped she'd go chasing after him when he stormed out. Remember she wanted to?"

"I remember," put in Carina. "Very _symptomatic_ , don't you think?"

"Wait," said Josie, unaware of the sub-text. "She goes chasing after him, he kills her, blows her up, whatever. How does he get away with that? Even these two could have solved that."

"You bet we could have."

"We don't have to wonder, just look at what he did," said Carina, pointing at Damian's bandaged leg. "A piece of metal in the leg, with no blood anywhere but pooled underneath? Guess you don't get 'Dexter' in that cave of yours, do you, Damian?"

Hannah cringed. "You stabbed yourself?"

"Whoa!"

"Bold move!"

"I had to do something!" shouted Damian. "The bomb missed all of you but at least I could divert suspicion from me."

"Yes, very professional," said Carina, rolling her eyes. "So the only real question is–"

"You want to know why?" asked Damian.

"Well, money, would be my guess," said Carina. "Why else try to kill someone you don't know? No, the question I have is how. How did you know we were coming?" She gestured imperatively with her gun when he said nothing. "Who told you, Damian?"

"Volkoff?" said Hannah.

"What?"

Hannah pointed. Her monitor showed a man, standing at the Nerd Herd desk upstairs, shouting into a red phone, the words 'Alexay Volkoff' blinking on the screen.

"What's Alexei Volkoff doing in the Buy More?" said Carina.

"Three guesses," said Agent 'Simple'.

She took one, and put it back. "This makes no sense."

"Figure it out on your own time, Sherlock, I got a plane to catch." Damian brandished his weapon and the detonator. "You gonna open the door or what?"

Josie shot him in the arm. "'What', traitor."

Agent Simple lunged for the bomber, tripping his partner as he lunged for the bomb. He flopped onto the floor, his hands just covering the area where the box landed. At least the box didn't break.

"Good catch," said Carina over his yelling. "You hurt your arm?"

"No," said Simple, "He's saying it's armed, it's armed!"

Hannah scooped it up and checked the readout. "Less than a minute!"

Carina grabbed it but Hannah didn't let go. "Follow me!" Together they ran, Hannah mostly just holding up her end while trying to keep pace.

Frost looked up as they raced into the cell block. Carina hit the door switch while Hannah danced impatiently right outside. As the door opened both women tried to slip through it in opposite directions at the same time.

"You, out!" shouted Carina, grabbing for Frost's arm and pulling her out of the cell and out of the way. "You, in!"

Hannah put the bomb on the bed, not gently, and Carina hit the switch. Together they grabbed Frost's arms as they hauled each other out of the sturdiest place in Castle.

* * *

The ground heaved, overpriced consumer goods fell from shelves, lights flickered, as overheated air spewed from concealed vents. Volkoff, not being from around there, stumbled and started to fall, but his pet geek caught him on the way down.

The billionaire arms dealer and international criminal did not sully his dignity on the floor of an American retail establishment. "I will allow you to live." Provided Frost still lived, of course. If she didn't, no one would live.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that," said the CMI.

One of the tanks in the aisle tipped over in the havoc, and the valve split on the floor. Pressurized gas spewed out of a small opening, launching the metal cylinder through the doors of the back room. The tank lodged in the wall, shooting its contents into the loading bay where they ignited on a stray flame, blocking the rear exits with a giant torch.

Volkoff stood tall, brushing dust from his coat casually as his men stumbled out of the back room into the front, one of them inexplicably carrying a pig. He looked out the front door, apparently the only exits left, but the crowd of gawkers had finally fled. _Americans_. "Open the door," he told his hacker, fairly certain the task would be within the man's limited abilities, and he was not wrong.

His men raced while their master strolled, unconcerned, from the store into the parking lot, where all was deceptively quiet. Volkoff knew it wouldn't stay that way long, once the throng of voyeuristic thrill-seekers got over their fear of imminent death. Frost had to be around here somewhere. They couldn't stay in Castle now, and no one builds a base with just one exit.

A column of fire shot up into the sky, from the chimney of a nearby restaurant, the Orange Orange.

"Interesting," said Volkoff to his agent. "Let's go there."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N** One of my longest chapters. As this series goes on they get longer and longer. In the beginning we had just a few people operating as a group, but as time goes on the group got larger and the members started doing their own things. Not to mention that this chapter is the conclusion to four different episodes in one. Once again the CMI makes an appearance in an important scene, and we see why they bothered to mention that stupid computer with the triangular floppies at the beginning of First Fight, as if it wasn't blazingly obvious at the time. It always bothered me that the contents of the house were so casually destroyed in canon (it was a great visual to end season 3 with, but simply too large and too vague, like so many of their other ideas, like the Atroxium, the Norseman, and the Omen virus), which is why I went to the trouble of having them all digitally archived at the beginning of this series, so the destruction of the house wouldn't matter so much.

I was once worried that Volkoff's threat to Hannah was a bit over the top, but I recently reread another story called 'Chuck Vs His Heritage' in which Chuck makes a similar threat to a minion, while searching for his kidnapped wife. There's actually quite a lot of that story that appears in here, I think, not direct quotation or anything, but I can see little homages here and there, same as with NinjaVanish's work. More blatant are the touches from the Boondock Saints movies, which no one mentioned so I don't know if anyone saw them. Not sure why I put them in.

* * *

Dimmed lights. Emergency power.

Air foul with dust, explosive residue, and the stink of burnt plastic, the slightest revenge of a cell door that had quite literally given its all to protect those without from that which was within. If she breathed in through her noise she caught the stench. If she breathed in through her mouth she got the dust and coughed. Nothing to be done for it, she couldn't just breathe _out_.

They hadn't been able to run very far from the blast, the halls weren't straight, but the effects of the explosion were vastly reduced by all the corners, so she was more than willing to make that trade. The shock wave still knocked them off their feet, but only the smallest particles had ridden it after them. She felt them under her hands, as she braced herself to rise. Dust fell in her eyes, so she closed them and shook her head to get the worst of it out.

She took only a small step when she felt something close tight around her ankle. Frost looked down. Carina had a firm hold and didn't look ready to let go.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I said I had to try, Agent. I didn't say I had to try very hard."

* * *

Carina took a quick head count when she got back to the main room, coming up a couple short. "Anybody have eyes on Damian?"

Agent 'Simple' smiled. "We got better than that, Agent Miller. We got a whole _body_ on him." He pointed down. His partner lay stunned across Damian's legs, pinning the murderer's body down very effectively.

"Well, what are you just standing there for?" said Hannah. "Get him up, if you can. We have to evacuate." Even if the base was still structurally sound, the dust and fumes could be a health hazard. Her fiancé moved without any prompting to help lift the man. "Josie, get the box from the infirmary, we'll take it with us." She pointed at Damian's bleeding arm. "You put that bullet hole in him, you can patch it up. These guys don't need the practice."

"If they could shoot better they wouldn't get so much," said Josie, on her way out.

Carina watched two men help a third over to the stairs. "That bad, huh?"

"They're getting better," said Hannah. She went into her office, initiated the suicide switches, and rummaged in a drawer or two. "I put her in there with them at range practice, and they try to impress her."

"Clever."

"So you're the reason," said Frost. "We were wondering how this base had become so much more effective."

Hannah came back out with a small satchel, and brushed some hair from her eyes. " _Now_ you tell me."

"Don't worry, Hannah," said Carina, giving Frost a shake. "With such a ringing endorsement I'm sure they'll rebuild."

"She's wasted here," said Frost. "I can see that, if you can't."

"How about you shut your trap or I'll find out if that stapler over there still works." Carina turned to Hannah. "Frost here could give Josie lessons."

"Lessons in what?" asked Josie, coming back with a large box with a red cross on it.

"Creative embellishment."

Josie's face hardened. "I've already made my opinion clear on traitors," she said, reaching down with Hannah to lift Damian to his feet. He yelled at the pain in his arm. "Oops."

Frost gave her a little salute, but wisely said nothing.

"Let's get going," said Carina.

The men had a head start but the women had a lighter burden, so they all reached the upper landing at about the same time. Carina placed her hand against the screen and the overhead light turned green.

"I thought you said you was locked in with us," said Simple.

"I never said I didn't have the key," said Carina, fog blooming as she pushed open the door. "I may not be as good a liar as Frost here but I have my moments."

Click. Click. Click.

Everyone stopped, even the non-agents recognizing the distinctive sound of hammers being unnecessarily cocked. Three men had them sighted in. The laser lights in the fog showed Carina whose chest they were all sighted in on, too.

"Yes," said Alexei Volkoff, as he stepped forward to pluck Frost from Carina's grasp. "We all have our little gifts."

* * *

In the middle of the night, a cell phone beeped, a peculiar beep with a specific meaning. The woman whose phone it was woke immediately, her body long since accustomed to the occasional disturbance at odd hours. Diane Beckman picked up her phone and squinted at the screen, searching for the item that had set off her alert.

Four items, in fact, but only one had been encrypted and sent eyes-only. What the hell was going on out there?

Her bed-partner rolled over. "The vicissitudes of life intrude, my darling?"

She sighed. "Team Bartowski is in California."

He threw off the covers. "I'll make coffee."

"Oh, go back to sleep, Roan. No reason for both of us to suffer."

"True suffering is in the time we are apart, my love," he said smoothly, lifting her hand to his lips. "I would waste none of the little we get together, even if it is on the wrong side of three time zones."

General Beckman (she was on duty now, even if her robe lacked any stars) went to her office, sealing the door as required by protocol. She plugged in her phone, and called up the retinal scan app as she accessed her secure email. She read the letter through twice. Clear, concise, and lucid after two murders and an explosion, even though the woman who wrote it knew nothing about the subject matter. She was wasted in that backwater. If the CIA didn't make her a better offer, she'd make one herself.

Casey _and_ Sarah. Was Frost really trying to help, or just casting doubt on their mental states? She'd have to read Director Bentley's note first, and play it by ear after that. For now, she had to assume the worst.

She pressed a button on her other monitor. "Eleanor Bartowski." The screen popped up a progress bar. Back to the first monitor. "Mr. Clark." His screen popped up a bar too, but it vanished almost immediately. _No one sleeps tonight._ "Send two cars, Mr. Clark. One for me, one for Doctor Bartowski."

He nodded, and popped off, just as the other monitor lit, with Ellie caught in mid-yawn.

"Yes, General?"

"I'm sending a car and a secure message. I need you in your lab, Doctor. When you get in I expect you to tell me what else you may need."

Physician reflexes kicked in, and Ellie was fully awake. "I'll be ready, General."

"I know you will." A soft knock on the door, and Beckman clicked the connection closed automatically, cursing herself silently as it went black. _Ellie hates it when I do that._ She'd have to make it up to her somehow. She closed down all of her screens so she could unlock the door and admit that blessed, blessed coffee. And Roan.

* * *

Volkoff looked Frost over with a concerned and critical eye. "Did they treat you well, my love?"

 _My love?_ Carina's mind went blank as she tried to process the incredible claim. Did Volkoff really love her? Could he? And did she love him back? Chuck would freak. Is that why she was gone all those–

"I'm fine, Alexei, although the seats in their interrogation rooms could use a bit more padding."

"You've eaten?"

"The same food they ate, so I can't complain."

Carina watched her body language, listened to her voice. This woman had never been anywhere near Volkoff.

Frost held out her hand. "Agent Miller?"

Carina handed over her gun.

"Excellent. Out." Carina and her group walked out of the freezer slowly. She walked to the end of the counter and pressed her fingers against the surface, knowing what was coming. The rest did likewise, as best they could, while Volkoff strolled out to the dining area and sat patiently.

Frost looked her underlings. "You, search them," she said, pointing at the men next to Carina. "You," she continued, pointing at Volkoff's blonde agent, "Search the ladies. And remember, don't cause trouble unless they cause trouble first."

Volkoff just watched her take charge, as if escaping from a cell was something she did every day. "What about that one?" he asked, indicating Damian.

"He's an assassin and a bomber, who was stupid enough to get caught. What do you want me to do with him?"

"I've had my fill of bungling incompetents for one night," said Volkoff. "On the other hand, I suppose it was his bomb that brought us to this pass, so perhaps I owe him a spot of gratitude."

Damian grinned, turning slightly to backhand Josie across the face. "Oops."

Frost stepped forward and brought her gun down on the wound in his arm. As he shrieked in pain, she kneed him between the legs and slammed his head against the counter as he bent double.

"Or not," said Volkoff.

"She's worth ten of you," said Frost as he sank down to kneel at her feet.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, bitch, you'll be on the ground soon enough," yelled Damian. "You'll be under it. Wait 'til I tell your boyfriend all about your little conversation with these two agents."

"A conversation?" asked Alexei, coming over to see the man behind the counter. "What about?"

Frost put her pistol down in front of her boss, as she lifted her accuser to his feet. "Well, you heard him."

"No need to be in such a rush," said Volkoff. "I'm keen to guess. Could she perhaps have told her jailers how she was deep under cover, working alone and in the dark to destroy me? Hmm?" Volkoff laughed at Damian's expression. "She's told that story before."

"Has she told the story about her CIA _son_ , and his CIA _wife_?"

The room went silent. Everyone looked at Frost, except Volkoff. He looked at Carina. "No," he said, reaching out a hand to claim Frost's gun. "I've not heard that one before. We shall have to discuss this at length. Elsewhere." He nodded to the blonde. "Get the car."

Volkoff believed in travelling in style, Frost knew, but he considered stretch limos to be garish. "And the prisoners?" No way they'd all fit, and Volkoff wasn't known for leaving witnesses behind.

He looked at her apologetically. "I had hoped to torture them in front of you, until the memory of those long hours in captivity had become a distant thing. I know how you appreciate the little romantic gestures. But now, all I can offer is an incompetent hacker, and I've already promised him he'd live. Can you forgive me? I gave my word."

"Do you keep your word?" asked Hannah quickly.

Volkoff looked at the diminutive brunette, growling at her insults. She paled, but stood her ground. "I am Volkoff," he roared. "Lying is for lesser men."

Frost nodded.

"Okay, then, Volkoff," said Hannah, voice quavering just a bit. "I've got a deal for you."

He waved the gun around an situation firmly under his control. "And why should I make a deal?"

Hannah reached into her bag. "Because I've got this." She held up a red triangular floppy disk.

One of his men snatched it from her hand. "And now I've got it," said Volkoff.

"Yes, but there's only one reader in the country and you don't know where it is," said Hannah. "And I do. You let them live and I'll take you there."

* * *

Chuck didn't even have the van fully parked behind the Orange Orange before Sarah was out the door. The scanner wasn't hidden any more, but it wasn't a scanner anymore either. Someone had ripped it out of the wall and wired in a laptop in its place. She pressed Enter.

"Welcome to the Castle Mainframe Interface. How may I help you?"

She groaned in the back of her throat. "Chuck!"

* * *

The limo was more comfortable, but the van had room for more people so Volkoff had commandeered that instead. The hacker drove, something else within his capacity, while the blonde agent attended to Damian's wounded arm, none too gently. Volkoff turned in his seat, to look at his captive audience (his favorite kind), huddled uncomfortably on the bare metal floor. The young man who'd insisted that Hannah not ride into danger without him moved in front, as if trying to shield her from his very gaze.

Ah, young love. Such a tragedy it can be, at times.

"If you are expecting assistance to come riding out the sunset at the last minute, Miss Hannah, I'm afraid you will be disappointed." He'd left her friends alive as agreed, but not able, and no one else knew where they were. "Castle is impregnable." She put up a brave front, but he'd seen lots of those, and knew how quickly and easily they could fall. Breaking them was one of his chief joys.

The night was young.

* * *

Chuck came around to the back door. "What's up, Sarah?"

She stood back, gesturing harshly at the machine, rather than hurling it into the next county as she wanted. "All it says is 'identify yourself for access' but then it doesn't recognize anything I say."

Chuck smiled. "Sounds like a great security program, as long as you don't mind nobody getting inside."

"It's not funny, Chuck. We need to get inside."

"Your wish is my command." He pressed Enter.

"Welcome to the Castle Mainframe Interface. How may I help you?"

"Agent Charles Charles."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Did you say cage of mars bars?"

Sarah pounded the side of the van. "You see?"

"Hmmm." Chuck cracked his knuckles, flexed his fingers dramatically. "This looks like a job for the Piranha."

"Voice print confirmed."

The door buzzed.

* * *

Volkoff looked disconsolately at his number one. "You didn't trust me around your family?"

Frost shook her head. "I didn't trust me. He's my one weakness, so I keep him as far away as possible. There's no room for weakness in a multinational criminal empire, or family, especially when they're in the CIA."

"I'll prove you wrong, someday," said Alexei, firmly. "Kids _love_ me. Your kids would love me too."

"My son would arrest us both on sight."

Volkoff raised a fist, but not in anger. "He knows his duty, that shows you raised him right. I love him already!"

"Alexei…"

* * *

"Carina!"

Shouting her name did no good. Shaking her availed them nothing. Chuck noticed the medical kit. "Sarah, check the box! See if there's one of those allergy pens in it. It's on the list and it's basically adrenaline."

Someone had really tossed this box around. "If it's on the list Hannah would stock it." Sarah started rummaging. "Here we go." She handed it over. "Will it work?"

"It can't hurt," said Chuck, preparing the device. He pushed it against her leg and counted to ten. Then he sat back. "Now we wait."

Sarah grabbed Carina by the shoulder and shook her harder.

"…kill me now…" whimpered the redhead suddenly. Tranq antagonists in any form were no fun.

"Carina! What happened? Where are the others?" asked Sarah.

"…Volkoff…took Hannah…she had a disk, red…" Her fingers made a triangle shape.

Chuck fumbled in his pocket. "Like this?" he asked, holding up the disk Tuttle had given him.

Eventually Carina focused on it. "Yeah."

Chuck looked up at his wife. "I let her have a disk from Dad's basement, it was corrupt. She wanted to practice retrieving the data from it. Volkoff must think she has this one. When they find out it's blank who knows what he'll do."

Sarah raised her hand, so did Carina.

"That was a rhetorical question, guys, all right?" said Chuck. "They'll need a reader."

"Hannah," said Carina, at the end of her strength. "…bargain…"

Sarah looked at all the unconscious agents. "She's taking him to the reader," she said, proud, terrified, and appalled. "She traded herself and a bad disk for everyone else."

"It's twenty minutes do get there, at least."

"Not when I'm driving." Sarah pulled out a gun and stuck it in Carina's hand, while Chuck lifted up her head and put a folded pad under it.

The movement and the metal roused Carina. She called out, "Sarah!" but they were already out the door. Curse her drugged body, she wasn't fast enough.

* * *

Chuck clutched on to the seat with one hand and braced himself against the dashboard with the other. Sarah was driving as if they were late for Ellie's pot roast. "So, uh…what's the plan?"

"Well," Sarah mused thoughtfully, "I was thinking I could go in there, explain the situation, appeal to their sense of justice, while pointing out the inevitable futility of their actions."

Chuck nodded. "Or…?"

"Or," she continued, "In a few minutes this quiet little neighborhood will be Armageddon."

* * *

They parked in the driveway. "Stay here," said Volkoff to his hacker. "If you try to run away, I'll let her track you down, and your continued existence will be questionable. Is that clear?"

The poor geek nodded.

"And you two," said Volkoff to his hostages. "His fate will be yours, tenfold."

Frost examined the man she was supposed to torture. "What's your deal?"

"Couldn't hack the base," he admitted. "Some stupid security program…"

"The mainframe Interface?" she asked, and he nodded. "Go home. I couldn't beat it either." The geek looked stunned, but not so stunned he didn't take her up on her offer.

Volkoff heard Hannah's young man whisper, "I can live with that." His face darkened with anger. "You are magnanimous, my love."

"Just prudent," said Frost, hefting a large duffel. "We have to be fair to our employees, otherwise we won't have any. Save the torture for the customers, especially when they try to cheat you."

"And they're always trying to cheat me," grumbled Volkoff. "Very well, let's get on with this."

Hannah put her thumb to the lock and flipped the light switch, allowing the group to descend into the darkened cellar.

Volkoff gazed at the racks of boxes, the dust-covered gear. "Well, well, well. Quite the busy beaver."

"The reader's over here," said Hannah. As she led them over to the machine, Frost set her bag down and slipped away. Damian had learned his lesson, leaving Hannah to the blonde while he loomed over Hannah's guy. She fed the disk into the slot, and the verdict was quickly returned. Unreadable.

"So, Hannah" said Volkoff. "You cheated."

She nodded.

* * *

Chuck and Sarah crept down the stairs, alert for any sounds that might reveal a trap. In perfect synchronization, they swung into the room, his tranq pistol covering everything her deadlier weapon didn't. No one was there, but now they could hear the sounds, see the movements of someone in the stacks, and they crept forward. Volkoff's voice. They were about to move in when a sound from the other side of the room made them stop. Frost, it had to be, and Sarah had to choose. Chuck tended to trust his mother more than he should, but she had a weapon that would very likely kill at close range.

She heard Volkoff's voice. "So, Hannah…"

She chose. With a gesture she sent Chuck after his mother.

* * *

"Fortunately for me, the disk was never my objective. This base must be destroyed, like everything that was ever Orion's. He haunts me, you see, he tasks me, and I must eradicate every trace of him."

"And us? Now you kill us?"

"You're trying to provoke me into giving you a quick and easy death," said Volkoff, smiling. He touched her cheek, and she twitched away. "The CIA has wasted you shamefully, but what do you expect from a government agency? I, on the other hand, am a businessman, and I am making you a better offer."

"I refuse."

"You haven't heard the offer yet," said Volkoff softly, holding her gaze. He moved in close, blocking her view of anything that wasn't him. "You will work for me, quickly, efficiently, and well, but above all, loyally." His voice lowered, rumbled in her ears, drowning out the sound of anyone that wasn't him. "For if you don't, I will have your boyfriend here tortured to death before your eyes. Then you will be tortured, but not to death. When I am done, your crippled body will be _mailed_ back to your precious CIA, as a warning to all who would ever cross swords with Alexei Volkoff. Is. That. Clear?"

* * *

Sarah swung into the aisle behind him. Click. "Very clear."

Hannah sank to her knees, shuddering.

Chuck's voice cried out in pain. "Aahh! What have you done?" Sarah turned, just a little.

Volkoff swung, Frost's gun in hand, catching Sarah on the side of the head, sending her down to the floor. With a quick gesture he signed his team to stay with the prisoners, while he went off after Frost alone.

"Tuttle?" quavered a voice.

"My name," came their boss' voice, dark with a rage that finally had a target. "Is Alexei Volkoff. I understand you've been looking for me." Flesh met flesh, once, and then there was silence.

Frost and Volkoff came back, dragging Chuck's limp body. "Not nearly the foe I'd hoped he would be," said Volkoff in disgust. He looked up at his agents. "Take those two away! We'll teach Mr. Charles here not to interfere with his betters." He turned to Frost. "Find me some chairs. I'll tie them while you get started with the explosives."

* * *

Casey caught the two traitors as they forced the two analysts out of the house, hitting each with a tranq dart to the back. The two prisoners jumped as he stepped from the shadows. "Two American traitors going to work for that Commie. Disgusting."

Hannah finally passed out.

Casey walked up to them. "You gonna faint too?" he asked, trying to provoke a little anger, something to get him past the obvious terror. _Must be Hell inside that house._

The younger man took the bait and shook his head, unable to speak.

"Good." Casey scooped Hannah up off the ground. "I hotwired her Nerd Herder. Let's get you two inside and locked down."

* * *

Volkoff turned at the door, looking back at his defeated adversaries as they sat there, glaring impotently. "I can't believe that we took him to be such a threat."

"This is too easy," said Frost. She walked back around the prisoners for a last check. "Aha!" she exclaimed triumphantly. She knelt down behind Sarah. "You've cemented my cover beautifully," she whispered. "Thank you." She pressed a blade into Sarah's hand even as she pulled off a fingernail. "A fake nail, with a razor edge."

She went back to Volkoff and handed it to him. "She was already cutting at the ropes."

Volkoff grinned at her. "So she's the super-agent?"

"Exactly. He's just a face."

Volkoff snorted. "A dead face." He turned, and led the way up the stairs.

* * *

"Freeze, Commie!" shouted Casey as Frost and Volkoff crossed the lawn. "Federal agent!" His targets shared a glance. "On the ground, now!"

They were more than happy to comply.

This simple obedience made Casey suspicious. He carefully checked all points before moving to secure the prisoners.

Chuck and Sarah came barreling out of the house, not at all watching who was in their way. Then the house exploded, like a little piece of Hell on Earth, or more likely a couple of dozen Thermite TH1 grenades planted in the basement.

"Chuck, are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Casey. "Top notch." He pushed them off, but of course his two targets were gone. "Why didn't you stop 'em?"

"My mother did something to me in there, Sarah," said Chuck, ignoring him. "I can't flash."

"How can that happen, Chuck?" asked Sarah, looking into his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes. "Even Ellie couldn't take the skills away."

"It was in a box, something my father made." He clutched her hand like a lifeline as she helped him stand. "I feel so strange. How did she know it was there, Sarah? What did it do, and how did she know it would do it?" He looked at the house, the pyre. "Everything…"

Mother or no mother, the kid gloves were off. "I don't know Chuck, but I swear to you I'm going to track her down and get those answers." _Whatever I have to do, and whoever I have to do it to._


	29. Fallen Angel

**A/N** This chapter starts the final arc of the season, which is focused on Sarah and Mary completing the mission against Volkoff. In canon this was handled in two episodes, beginning with the Gobbler, in which the majority of Sarah's time spent 'going rogue' is dismissed in a single sentence. In this series that same arc takes seven far more complex episodes. This episode is a combination of The Balcony with The Fear of Death.

A lot of people like S4 because of the time C&S are together, and even in an episode where they were supposed to be apart they were put together a couple of times, mostly by breaking the laws of physics. I took the story line seriously. They were apart longer, and met less frequently. This may have been less pleasant for people who want our heroes together all the time, but it made for a stronger story overall, and a more satisfying reunion when it finally did happen.

* * *

"Well," said General Beckman from the big screen. "Here's something I never expected to see again."

Chuck, Sarah, and Casey all shared an unsmiling glance as they stood behind the table in Castle for the briefing.

The General noted their surroundings. "Although I must say Castle has seen better days, and you all look rather the worse for the wear."

"Begging the General's pardon," said Casey, "But so does the General."

"Your team's late nights tend to become my early mornings, Colonel," said Beckman. "And the more time zones between us the worse it gets. One of the perqs of command." Not that Casey needed to be told that. "Your briefs were quite the wake-up call, I expect the full reports to be both prompt and invigorating." She took a sip of her black coffee.

"Yes, ma'am."

Beckman shifted her focus. "Chuck, good to have you back. I look forward to your report especially." A set of photos from the Buy More security cameras lined the bottom of the screen. "However inadvertently it may have come about, you managed to get some visuals on Alexei Volkoff, a remarkable accomplishment. We already have reports from Interpol of sightings in Istanbul."

"Will the General be sending us there to pursue those sightings?" asked Sarah eagerly.

A little too eagerly, if you asked the General. "No, Agent Bartowski. We know their faces but they also know yours. Another team will take point on that search. We have a different job for you."

"We'll be there ASAP, General," said Casey.

"No need, Colonel," said Beckman. "You are in Castle, and Castle is where you will remain, for the time being. We're pulling the current Castle team, until Hannah is determined to be fit for duty, and possibly after that."

Sarah couldn't have been surprised, but she made an unhappy sound. Chuck looked over at his wife, knowing what she was unhappy about. "I'm sure she'll be okay, Sarah."

"I hope so too, Chuck," said the General. "She's a strong person, but an encounter with Volkoff would traumatize even the strongest agent. Given the Intersect connections in the case, we are bringing her in to be evaluated by Dr. Dreyfus."

None of them dared ask 'how long', but they must all have been thinking it, very very loud. Beckman continued, "This assignment will only be for a few days, we can't leave such a sensitive position unguarded until we can get a replacement team together. Your friend will receive a commendation, Sarah, and probably a transfer to a far more suitable posting, so a new team will be necessary in any event."

Sarah smiled. "I'm glad for her."

"You should be, she deserves it." Beckman's tone softened. "You know, Sarah, she's the second extremely qualified asset you've discovered in an unlikely place. Maybe when you retire from field duty you should consider a position in recruiting." The General smiled.

The field agent didn't. "I'll consider it, General."

* * *

 _I'm sure you will._ General Beckman kept a straight face, easy to do with the anxious face on her other monitor, watching and evaluating. "Colonel Casey, you will determine the structural integrity of the Castle installation. Chuck can assist you with that."

Ellie gave her a silent thumbs up.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Uh, General, don't you think I need to get back to the lab?" asked Chuck. "Whatever my mother did to me, we need to study it, try to reverse it, don't we? There may be clues…" He waved his hand in the general vicinity of his head.

Beckman saw Ellie pull Manoosh briefly on screen, pointing to him before shoving him off again. "I agree, Mr. Bartowski," said the General, "But that's technical work, and this is a hopefully unique opportunity to study the skills and how they integrate with your mind. I will be sending Manoosh and some of the people from the Intersect team to make that evaluation. Ellie is currently backlogged with other tasks and could no doubt use a break from Intersect work for a while." Beckman watched their faces with some dismay. Of course they all knew something was up, but normally they wouldn't be so transparent about it. "I expect those reports to be here when I get back to my desk, otherwise you are dismissed." She hit the switch with her usual speed, before Chuck could think of more questions to ask her. "Your thoughts, Doctor?"

"Clearly off their game, especially Sarah. Keep them busy with routine tasks, that's all I can say for now, General. Let other teams handle any real crises that may come up."

Beckman made a face. "Unfortunately, the only teams in the area are both on their way out of it. Believe me, it's for the best."

"How can it be for the best?" said Ellie, who'd read far too many of her brother's reports. Actually Sarah's reports. Her brother tended to underplay his role and Casey went on about gunplay. "There are more spies in LA than there are actors!"

For the second time that morning General Beckman smiled. "Probably true, Ellie, but the withdrawal is unavoidable. Director Bentley's team was trying to replace your brother's as the go-to team in the CIA, and wound up in a situation only Chuck could save them from."

Her fingers trembled, just a little, but Ellie's face glowed with pride. "So now they're slinking back home with their tails between their legs?"

Privately, Diane Beckman rather treasured the idea, but publicly…"Of course not, Doctor. They're escorting the remains of a disarmed weapon of high potency. One of Volkoff's enemies didn't mind getting his hands dirty in someone else's town."

 _Oh._ "Ahem, well, what about the Castle team?"

"Currently leaderless, and in this situation likely to do more harm than good. If there's a silver lining in the cloud hanging over Castle, it's that the events of last night will serve as an excuse to pull them out of the rotation early."

"All of them?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Two of them require…careful handling, while the third is the sole survivor of a group of four."

Ellie winced sympathetically. "Oh, that's rough."

Beckman nodded. "Especially since two of them were murdered by the third. To make it worse, she's psy-ops. One can never quite tell which way those balls will bounce, especially the trainees." She yawned. "You've gotten started on your project?"

Ellie yawned too. "Yes, General. I gave Mr. Clark the list of the items and the personnel I'll need. He's cutting the orders now."

"Good. The sooner an antitoxin is found, the sooner our team can come back. Until then, I'll have to put someone on watch behind the scenes. I suggest we both get some rest now, life will get hectic again soon enough." She reached for the button, but paused, and remembered to say, "Good night, Ellie."

Ellie smiled. "Good night, Diane."

* * *

Somewhere over the Pacific…

"Istanbul?" asked Volkoff. "Why there? You know I've never cared for Turkish cuisine."

Frost slid into the seat opposite him. "True," she said, "But they don't know that, and it will give the CIA profilers something to chew over, your 'imperial ambitions' or whatever."

"But I _have_ imperial ambitions."

"Exactly," said Frost. "Which is why I've instructed your doppelganger to make a large and unexpected donation to a religious institution or a children's hospital, whatever suits his fancy."

Alexei hummed, like growling with his mouth closed. "Simple and unexpected," he declared with some measure of approval in his tone. "Much like Agent Charles' swift escape from what should have been an inescapable doom." He glowered at her. "I can think of only one explanation for that."

Frost watched him patiently. "And that would be?"

"I underestimated him," said Volkoff bitterly. "My anger blinded me, but I see it all now, the mastery of deception! No agent would ever have fallen after a single hit like that. Obviously we were meant to think exactly what we _did_ think, that he was an underling and she was the super-agent, leading us to foil her schemes while leaving his own untouched." Volkoff shook his head in amazed wonder. "Impressive. Most impressive."

"There's only one thing to be done," said Frost, clearly impressed.

"I agree." Volkoff snapped his fingers, and an underling brought him a package, wrapped in bright paper with a big bow on it. Frost's nails needed no enhancements to make short work of that. "When we lost contact with your last computer, I took the liberty of ordering up a replacement. When you check your email you'll find the dossiers on my three top assassins in America. Use them. Verify Agent Charles' death personally. Return to America at the next refueling point. Even Mr. Charles won't be expecting _that_."

She took a deep breath, considering her orders, looking a little uncertain but obedient. "Very good. I trust you will remain safely in your office while I'm about it."

She was always so fanatical about his safety. "I'm afraid not, Frost. Mrs. Agent Charles let it slip that Dragan Pichushkin was in LA at the same time I was, and we both know there could be only one reason for that. Since nothing crassly murderous made the news I'm assuming Agent Charles did for him what he's done for so many of my own men. Dragan's men need a leader, while I am in need of some new blood."

Her face was pale, but she kept her tone light. She never liked it when he did his own field work. "They aren't just going to let you waltz in and take over, Alexei."

He chuckled. "Of course not. When I fail to get off this plane in Moscow, the more ambitious of them will come crawling out of the woodwork, thinking their master succeeded. I cut off those heads and the rest of them will fall in line."

Frost didn't blink at the thought of all the deaths soon to come. "Can I be allowed to know where you will be?"

"Of course, my dear. I was thinking how lovely Istanbul is, this time of year, and how much our dear friend Mr. Tuttle loves Turkish cuisine."

* * *

"Manoosh!" yelled Chuck at the slight figure descending the stairs. "Welcome to our little Castle away from home."

"Hey, Chuck," said Manoosh around a blob of frozen yogurt. He indicated the contents of his cup. "You know, this is really terrible." Didn't stop him from scooping up another blob.

"Yeah, well, it's not like they want to have too many customers up there." Chuck reached for his cup. "Let me help you with that."

Manoosh pulled away. "Get your own! I haven't had free government-supplied awful frozen yogurt in a dog's age."

Chuck sagged. "Neither have I. We're not supposed to go upstairs, so no one will see us."

"My heart bleeds," said Manoosh absently, as he licked his spoon. "Really, a whole day underground so far, how can you stand the torment?" He launched his empty cup at a trash can with an experienced hand. "So I'm guessing you can't help us bring in all the boxes and bundles, either?"

Chuck looked at the expanse of grating and catwalk. The elevator went into the Buy More, which hadn't suffered much from the 'earthquake' after all, and had quickly reopened. "Oh, well, gee, I'd love to help you there, Manoosh, but you know–"

"You really shouldn't go upstairs, Chuck, someone might see you. Yeah, I get it, but all I have to say is, I've seen The Chair, and you haven't."

"'The Chair'? Is there a TM after that, or should I be making air quotes?"

"Laugh it up, fuzzball," said the shorter man to the tall one. The door above opened with a hiss, and they both turned to see who came in. "Sam here gets first crack at you, mainly to verify that the usual parameters still apply, but after that…" Manoosh rubbed his hands together with a pretty feeble 'mwa-ha-ha'.

"I don't know, it sounds like you could use a hand–"

"No, no," said Manoosh, pushing him and Sam down the hall. "You just run along with Sam, do your thing. You'll be mine soon enough."

* * *

Testing, Day one...

Chuck pulled, or tried to. "Wow, these straps are really tight. Snug, I mean. Snug." He pulled some more.

"They have to be, Chuck, it's not like you're going to be watching kittens play with yarn, here," said Manoosh, coming up with a piece of headgear. He started immobilizing Chuck's head in The Chair ™. "We're testing to see what happened to skills that in some cases are deadly. If they were really taken away that's one thing, but if they were merely suppressed somehow, I don't want to un-suppress them with me in the room, if you know what I mean. I don't have any fakeadeathanol literally at my fingertips."

"That was one time," said Chuck tiredly. You'd think he strangled people on a daily basis, the way they went on about it. "And Ellie pulled that code."

"Code never dies, Chuck, you know that." Manoosh tightened a chin strap. "Look at you now. The original program was all about implanting memories to bypass learning, and that code is still there. The Intersect only uses some of it but the skills need it. My glasses are much more lightweight, but I only had a fragment to work with. Anyway, the point is…what is the point?"

Chuck rolled his eyes, the only part of him that could still move. "The point is that it may not have been just Ellie's code that wouldn't let me stop, I get it."

Manoosh tightened the strap some more. "Right, that's the point. Not to mention that we don't want you hurting yourself, either, if we should somehow make you flash when you aren't ready for it."

"'ou 'ink 'ou 'an?"

"Maybe. Sam's been working on ways to force the subject, that's you, to flash on the Intersect data. We'll be combining his knowledge and mine to try to make you flash on the skills instead." Manoosh shrugged. "Mostly we're just taking advantage of what happened to do some baselining. Plus I get to come back to LA for a while, maybe get some sun."

Chuck gave him a thumbs-up.

Manoosh gave him a little proprietary pat on the shoulder. "Time for some heavy lifting. Language skills first."

"I 'an't 'alk."

"Doesn't matter." The chair tipped and suddenly Chuck was on his back, staring at an overhead screen. Manoosh leaned over him, moving the scanner into position. "Mwa-ha-ha," he said, rubbing his hands, before taking himself out of Chuck's sight.

Chuck pulled at the straps again.

* * *

Day four…

Manoosh sat on the beach, not looking very impressive in his shorts and whatnot but that wasn't why he was there. He had to make a phone call and he wanted to be sure no one was around while he made it.

"Hey Manoosh," said Ellie tiredly. "What's up?"

"Please tell me you've got a cure. This place is like a car crash waiting to happen, and I'm in the front seat."

Her voice perked up, hard and serious. "What's going on?"

"What isn't going on! I went to get a cup of coffee yesterday, and there was Casey, standing in the kitchen watching the water run, mumbling about waterboarding bearded trolls while his fingers twitched. Sarah's been sharpening her knives so much she had to get a new set, 'cause the old ones were off balance. I suggested she take a break, maybe watch a movie, and she said 'Get back to work, little man, the clock is ticking. Can't you hear it? Tick-tick-tick.'"

"Sarah insulted you?"

"Please, I've been insulted by plenty of blonde goddesses, but this was spooky. She walked away, and twenty minutes later I see her in the common room, crying over a rom-com."

"And Chuck?"

"Hard to say, since we really are putting him through a wringer. Might even be keeping him steady. We're running out of things to try that don't involve physical violence, though."

"Then you'll be happy to hear that Beckman's sending a new man out to join your team, someone who can handle the physical side." Ellie didn't sound happy about anything. "A psy-ops guy, but they think he's weird."

" _Psy-ops_ think he's weird? Great. When's he getting in?"

"He should be there by now. You haven't seen him?"

"No. Crap, I'm at the beach!" He stood and grabbed his towel, charging awkwardly through the sand back to his car. "I'll call you back."

* * *

Tap-tap-tap.

Chuck didn't look up. All this testing was cutting into his work as the head and only analyst on station, so he took advantage of any gap to do his real job. When the arms reached around him, he jumped, but too late.

"Your reflexes are pitiful," said Sarah, laying her head against his back as she tightened her grip. "The seasons move faster."

"I knew it was you," said her husband the non-agent, turning in the circle of her arms. "Honestly, I don't know how you can even walk in those heels, let alone fight."

She kept her head where it was, only against his chest now. "No testing today?" she asked, swaying slightly on her feet.

"Beach break for Manoosh," said Chuck, swaying with her. "He says it's for the sun but I think he calls Ellie to keep her up to date." Together they danced, without moving their feet. "Maybe we should put you on the team, though. This is nice."

She had no words to say, her entire being soaking up the feel of him after too long apart. Hours, at least.

Suddenly he dipped her, his body twisting with a violent motion and a sound of pain. By the time she opened her eyes he was on her other side and bringing her up fast. Behind him a man clad in black moved swiftly and silently.

Chuck yelled "Sarah!" and she knew another was behind her. "Ninjas, Chuck! Run, I've got this." She pushed him away, avoiding the third ninja she somehow knew was on the floor.

Chuck tried to run, but suddenly three more ninjas descended from the ceiling to surround him. No escape, and with Sarah busy, no help. He raised his hands, fighting as best he could, but they handled him easily, dodging his clumsy strikes and kicks. One to another the pushed him, and finally the third ended his shameful performance with a spinning kick to his legs that brought him down on the floor.

"Stop! Oh," came a command from above.

The ninjas stopped, Sarah stopped, seeing her husband on the floor. "Chuck!"

Agent Charles was just getting started. Flipping gymnastically to his feet, he attacked the first ninja with precise strikes, dropping him to the floor before his partners could move in. Two on one, they fared better, and when the third recovered it was no contest.

"Mr. Charles, I am impressed."

Chuck and Sarah stopped struggling against their captors, who immediately stood back and assumed some kind of at rest position. Their master had arrived.

The newcomer stopped by the first ninja and spoke with him in Japanese, the sound of it tugging annoyingly at Chuck's awareness. "You went up against three ninjas, without the Intersect. You must have the stones of a bull! If you hadn't been pulling your punches you might have even won."

Chuck dismissed that ridiculously hyperbolic comment. "And who might you be?"

"Agent Rye, Jim. Psy-ops out of Langley."

Sarah looked at the living statues. "This is psy-ops?"

"My fellow agents attack the mind to control the body, Agent Charles, but I use a different approach." Agent Rye walked around his subject, taking his measure. "I attack the body to control the mind. It's physical, but psychological. Painful." He smiled. "Brutal."

Sarah didn't like the sound of that. "Sounds like fun."

Jim ignored her. "Chuck, I promise you, that when we are done, you will be a spy again."

"He wasn't a spy before," said Sarah.

Agent Rye frowned at her. "Are you sure about that?"

* * *

The woman stood on the balcony of the winery, gazing out on the romantic vista. Not as romantic as the Loire Valley in France, but then, what was? Wineries everywhere had to present at least a façade of class, and with that came a façade of romance, even in the middle of California wine country.

Three men came to the doorway, but only one, Hercule, came forward with a silver case. "It's done."

She opened the case, to see a gun-shaped slot in the foam, currently holding no gun-shaped object.

Hercule continued his report. "We left the body, as directed, but we didn't find his weapon."

 _It isn't a weapon._ She closed the case. "That's fine," said Frost. Chuck hadn't left LA, she was sure of that, but she wasn't about to go looking for him. "Someone will come for it."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N** I actually like the character of Jim Rye, I was very sad when they killed him off. He would have made a good recurring buffoon, causing trouble. I also despise the Wedding Planner episode, by far the worst episode in the series, especially the part where the bad guy got away with it. I didn't plan to use any of that episode, and I didn't here, just reversing that specific outcome. I was surprised to find that WP had some useful bits scattered through it too. I eventually used those later, once the connection to Wedding Planner had been sandblasted off.

* * *

Two weeks ago…

Vivian MacArthur was more careful than usual putting on her locket. That man she'd shot (she winced, remembering the explosion of gore as he flew backward), that man said she had a key from her father, a token of affection from when she was a child. The only token she'd ever gotten from her father was this locket.

So small, so fragile. Something she could so easily have lost. She hadn't, of course, she'd treasured this one small thing, such a rare expression of her father's love. So rare. For a second she felt a chill go through her, at the very thought that she might in all innocence have lost this token. A horse ride, a hike. School, anything. Maybe she should put it away.

She shuddered, throwing off the fear. None of those things had happened. None of them would, especially now, now that she knew the truth. Her life, her father. _This house._ She looked around her. The familiar walls were suddenly unfamiliar, oppressive. Were they a cage, a shelter, or a father's loving hand?

No, not that. A shelter maybe, but definitely not a home.

According to Chuck (she smiled, remembering his smile), this house was a refuge, a place to keep her safe, stored away until her father needed her. She liked Chuck's way of keeping her safe better. He'd made a plan, orchestrated her safety, but he'd altered that plan, given her a part to play in her own rescue. Standing alone against Boris. Taking action, defining herself.

She liked the feeling. She liked Chuck.

* * *

Today…

Manoosh raced for the Castle entrance, but not without stopping to snag some more frozen yogurt. It was awful, but it was free, so that made it taste better. "Here I am," he said, running down the stairs. "What'd I miss?"

"Yogurt, my favorite," said Rye, plucking the cup from Manoosh's hand. Manoosh looked up and then up some more, as Rye scooped up a glob of the stuff for a taste. "Wow, this is really bad. I mean, government extra-special bad. But it's free, so I like it."

A man after his own heart, and yogurt. "Get your own!" said Manoosh, leaping to get his cup back.

Rye raised his arms. "I just did, you must have missed it."

"Miss this!" Manoosh punched him in the pills, not quite eye level but close.

"Oo!" yelled Rye, bending double.

Manoosh plucked the cup from his hands on the way down. He walked away, spooning up more of his prize. "Afternoon, Chuck, Sarah. See you guys in the lab?"

"Uh…no," said Chuck, sharing a look with Sarah. "I, uh, I think we'll be using the dojo now."

"I'll set up the scanner." Manoosh looked back at Rye, trying to straighten up. "Go easy on him, will you, Chuck?"

* * *

Chuck left off his stretching routine as Agent Rye came into the room. "You okay there, Jim?"

"Fine, fine," said Rye, hobbling along in a more sprightly fashion. "Why do you ask?"

Chuck went back to his flexing rather than answer that question. "I'm sorry about Manoosh, but you did, um, hit him where it hurts. With the yogurt, I mean. The guy's a little obsessive."

"Exactly! My plan worked perfectly," said Rye, forcing himself upright. "I need to know the kind of men I'm working with. Are you ready to work, Agent Charles?"

Chuck looked over his shoulder, before he realized what Rye had said. "You really should knock it off with the 'Agent Charles' talk, there, Agent Rye. Sarah's the agent, not me."

"You can't let your wife's jealousy hold you back, Chuck. You're the Intersect, not her."

Chuck heard tapping in the distance, rapidly approaching. "Are you trying to get me, you, or us killed?"

"Just some pride therapy, Chuck," said Rye as Sarah walked into the room, looking for a place where she could observe without interfering. "Obviously you're more spiritually advanced than that. I thought I recognized that quality. Don't usually find it in others, though. Probably why the Intersect works for you, and nobody else."

"Nope," said Chuck, shaking his head. "Gotta say, spiritual development, not a factor."

"I love your modesty, so refreshing."

"You're right," said Chuck. "This _is_ brutal." Rye slapped him across the face. "Ow!"

Sarah looked up.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Pain Therapy," said Rye. "Your spirit is well advanced, and the little guy is looking at your mind. Your body has triggers, and I'm going to keep trying those triggers until one of them works." He slapped Chuck again, harder.

"Ow!"

"Stop hitting him," said Sarah.

"I'm not hitting him, Agent Charles," said Rye. "Science is hitting him."

"Oh yeah? Let's see how science likes being hit." She came at him, punching and striking, putting Rye on the defensive, but his blocks matched her every strike. He really did seem to know what he was doing, so she backed off.

"Kempo karate," said Rye enthusiastically, and he sniffed the air. "With a delightful hint of grapefruit. You study?"

"Not since spy candidate school," said Sarah, confused. _Not since…_

Rye turned back to his subject. "That's what I'm talking about, Chuck. We need to find the right stimulus, be it pain, fear, or whatever it was in her case, but when we do, your flashes will return, just like her memory of kempo."

"It's okay, Sarah," said Chuck reassuringly. "I got this." She stood by the door, moving her hands in slow patterns. He touched her on the shoulder, catching her hand when her reflexes took advantage of her distraction. "Why don't you go see if Casey needs anything?" He let go.

"Good idea, sweetie." She nodded and left, still moving her hands, as if trying to remember consciously what she'd done automatically.

Chuck turned back to the circle. Rye lashed out to slap him again.

Chuck blocked the slap, and with four strikes and a leg sweep not part of any kata, left Rye on the ground.

"Did you flash?" asked Rye, checking for blood.

Chuck stared at his hands. "No."

Rye sagged back against the floor. "Are you _sure_ you're not an agent?"

* * *

Across town, in a business office that legitimately belonged to neither of the women in it…

"Report, Agent Miller."

Carina flexed her hand. "That's one con woman who won't be swindling any more happy couples out of their wedding funds."

"So you're done?" He sounded impatient.

One punch, dammit. "Well… _she's_ done. I was just getting started." One dart to keep her out. One anonymous call to 911, with evidence of her schemes, her aliases, her victims, left out in plain sight. One nice long prison sentence for Ms. Peralta here, if she was lucky. Otherwise, she'd meet Carina again.

"So we can get back to the evil cabals now?"

Carina scooped up Hannah's down payment, generous quantities of small bills already packed for the quick getaway that dear Daphne wouldn't be making. "You found another one? I've only been in LA three days!"

"Corruption, wealth, sex, sun, and a communications hub like no other. Need I say more?"

Sun. Sex. _Sigh._ "No, Orion, you don't need to say anything more. Lead on, Macduff."

"That's 'lay on', not lead on. No one gets that right."

* * *

Sarah stood in the main room at Castle, pretending to work, listening to the sound of flesh meeting flesh, flesh meeting floor. Or walls. Her poor husband, he was getting beaten to a pulp. What was he trying to prove, anyway? If he was doing this for her, she'd have to pound some sense into him.

At last the sounds stopped, and she steeled herself as he shuffled into the room. No, that was Rye, shuffling for the stairs. Did he think she wouldn't hear him? She had bigger worries than him, though. There he was now, walking out of the room, as if nothing was wrong. "Chuck?" She reached up, cradling his head as she checked for bruises. He looked surprisingly good.

"Ow," he said, wincing.

"What?"

"My earlobes hurt. He pinched them."

"The brute. But I think I know how to fix this."

Castle was supposed to be a working base, not a habitation. Sam, Manoosh, and now Agent Rye had hotels to go to, but Team B was supposed to stay out of sight. With no undemolished cells, Casey slept in the armory, and he seemed happy enough. That solution wouldn't work for Chuck and Sarah, since a) Casey was already there, and b) army cots didn't come in double sizes. The CIA being what it was, fraternization rules and all, the visitor's quarters were set up with a single twin bed, and not a lot else. But the Agency's top couple were nothing if not resourceful.

Chuck lay stretched face down, over a stack of mats roughly the size of a queen-sized bed. Sarah used all her skills to ease the considerable pain he must have been in (below the neck; his earlobes were on their own), although he refused to show it. "Please tell me you aren't doing this for us."

Chuck raised his hands, gripping her hips as she straddled him. "Believe me, I've learned that lesson. I quite like being the husband you want me to be."

"Well, that man is not a man who needs the Intersect." She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. "I love _you_ , Chuck Bartowski, not it, and I always have." She sat back. "And I also love a husband who isn't too stiff to move–"

"Too late." He reached up his hands again. "Where did you get this lavender lingerie from? Please tell me it's not from mission prep."

She swatted him on the shoulder. As if she'd let anything from a mission into their lives, or their room. "Care package from Carina, along with a bottle of scented massage oil that should be just warm enough. Be right back." She pulled out of his hands as she swung off the 'bed' and left the room.

Her departure was better than any cold shower, not that he wanted a cold shower right now. He didn't even want the massage, although a massage from a lingerie-clad Sarah was not a thing to be turned down. Right now he wanted Sarah herself, massage oil optional.

Something made a sound by the door.

Chuck rolled over.

A shadow fell over him, a whisper of silk like a promise.

Chuck smiled, opening his eyes.

A ninja stood above him, with two short swords ready to strike.

"Sarah!" he shrieked.

The swords plunged down, crossed above his neck. One more move and he would be average height for a man. A dead man.

Chuck reached up and grabbed the attacker's wrists (like iron!), pushing himself away and off the chopping block. Then he pulled, his legs snapped up as he folded double, flinging himself off the bed lengthwise. He missed with his feet, but his knees caught the ninja on the shoulders and knocked him backwards, pulling Chuck off the bed onto his back on the floor, blankets cushioning the impact.

The ninja pulled off his mask. "Did you flash?" asked Agent Rye.

Sarah ran in, gun raised. She stopped when she saw who it was. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you _flash_?" said Rye again. "Him, not you."

Sarah belted her robe.

"No," said Chuck.

Rye turned to Sarah. "Are you sure he isn't an agent?"

She pointed at her fallen, panting, lump of husband, all twisted in the blankets on the floor. "Does he _look_ like an agent?" She moved between the man with the swords and the man with her heart. "Haven't you abused him enough?"

Rye stretched a bit in his costume, joints cracking. "Well, I admit the pain therapy didn't work out quite the way I'd hoped, his fault, not mine. That's why I think the key may be fear. Pure, adrenalized fear, rocketing through his plasma! But not here, he's obviously too comfortable here." He looked her up and down.

"You want fear?" Two knives appeared in her hands, and for the rest of his life (starting the next day) Chuck would always wonder where they came from. "My blades versus yours."

Chuck's eyes bulged.

"Exactly," said Rye, backing away. "Just like that."

"Get out, Rye. You really need to get some sleep."

He paused at the door. "I don't do sleep, Agent Charles. I do meditative trancing."

Thunk-thunk. "Somewhere. Else."

"Gotcha. Later. Tomorrow." He fled at last.

She got her knives and secured the door, undoing her robe as she turned, with more eye bulging on Chuck's part. "Oh, poor baby." The robe fell to the floor. "Someone needs comforting."

* * *

Sarah had had quite enough of Agent Rye. "You want to take Chuck out on a mission, without the Intersect? Are you insane?"

General Beckman glared at her from the big screen. Sarah had forgotten just how much more imposing that made her, the appearance of size coupled with her indomitable will. "You should know, Agent Charles, that in addition to being a Psy-ops instructor and a neurological Ph.D., Agent Rye is also a fully-trained field operative."

Rye smirked, waiting for the green light. His operations were always green-lit.

Beckman continued. "You should also know that I agree completely with you." She shifted her focus. "Chuck is not a spy, Mr. Rye, but his wife is, and I would be very careful about what I suggest for her husband in front of her, if I were you. Castle has already taken enough damage."

Sarah had no time to celebrate. Beckman got a thoughtful look, and Sarah was unhappily reminded of Ellie's dislike of thoughtful Generals.

"A mission doesn't sound like a bad idea, though, and an ideal candidate has just crossed my desk." A picture of a man's face appeared on the screen. "Agent Rosenbaum was found murdered at a winery in Northern California, a place where your faces are thankfully not well-known. He was carrying a data nano-chip, which was not recovered with his body."

"You want us to recover the chip, General?"

"Naturally," said the General.

"That doesn't sound very dangerous," grumbled Rye.

"It could be," said Beckman. She pressed a button, and another man's face appeared. "Pierre Melville, a French radical turned terrorist, will be at the winery tomorrow, supposedly for a Wine-Off, a competition between French vintages and their California counterparts. We believe he's coming for the chip, and will do anything to get it."

Rye seemed a little happier. "Well, at there's some possibility of life-threatening mayhem."

Casey grunted in agreement.

"And you all get to enjoy some time out of Castle, I'm sure you must feeling a touch of cabin fever by now."

Chuck raised his hand. "Uh, General?"

"Mr. Charles," she inquired. "You have something to offer?"

"Only to point out that this mission might be better handled if Casey took point. He's done all those bartending gigs over the years, I think it's only fair to let him put all that knowledge to better use."

The General nodded. "An excellent suggestion. Colonel, this is your mission. Good luck, team."

* * *

Somewhere up north…

"She'll kill you."

"She will never know," said the other man. "And if she did, what of it? She is nothing but Volkoff's lapdance anyway."

"Lapdog."

"Yes, lapdog, excuse me. Agent Charles will come for the chip, and we are here for Agent Charles, only we will not kill him. She will go running back to the master for instructions, and by that time we will have sold this chip and its bearer to our client, for money that will make even Volkoff's eyes widen."

"Will it be enough for us to hide forever? Remember what happened to Packard, and Boris."

"No one knows what happened to Boris. But he was a fool, and so was Packard, setting themselves against Volkoff," said the first man. "We will take our triumph to him ourselves, and soon Frost will be _our_ lapdance!"

"I like this plan," said his partner, nodding. "Taking orders from a woman, it's unnatural."

"So, we are agreed," said Pierre, raising a glass of stolen wine. "To Agent Charles, and the money he will bring us."

Victor toasted. "And his team?" Not really a question.

"We only want their leader," said Pierre. "Kill the rest. Kill them all."


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N** I did a lot of work keeping track of the time writing the Vivian scenes, bringing her along to her father's doorstep just in time to find Sarah doing the same thing. Making this story more serial and less episodic in nature has the side effect of compressing the story, since I can't just arbitrarily throw in a few weeks between adventures.

The duel was a bit of a surprise, but a fun one. I took a few liberties with the wines. They all came from the Australian Table Wines sketch from Monty Python, but the Black Stump Bordeaux was treated as just another fine wine for the purposes of this story. Old Smokey '68 and my later reference to Melbourne Old and Yellow are shout-outs to the Monty Python originals.

* * *

One week ago…

Vivian Volkoff lay in bed, afraid to sleep. She wanted to sleep, she craved sleep, but her dreams were neither pleasant nor restful. They could have been, every one of them had Mr. Charles in a starring role, which she found very pleasant, but not in a restful sort of way. He'd saved her life the week before in any number of unrestful ways, to be sure. Gun battles, car chases, even horseback riding. Always with style, always with flair, always the perfect gentleman.

And then…

Then, the peril escaped, the foe vanquished, just as she was ready to take that step and find out what lay beyond the closing credits of their little movie, that Agent, Sarah Walker, would suddenly come out of nowhere and take her hero away from her. Always another mission.

It wasn't fair.

He'd said she was well on her way. She didn't feel well on her way to anywhere, certainly not to where she wanted to go, since that was always where he was and he would always be going somewhere else. Always another mission. As bad as the boys at University. Worse, really, since he was no boy, and she _wanted_ to be with _him_.

Her unfamiliar longing curdled into a more familiar anger. Vivian threw her pillow across the room.

 _I've had quite enough of this, thank you very much._ She was a Mac–no, she was a Volkoff.

What would her father, oil company executive or international master criminal, think of his daughter, mooning over a man she'd known for less than a day, even a day as intense as that one had been. The parent she'd met those few times didn't look like the sort to moon over anything.

The pillow fell to the floor, pulling some papers down with it, covered with shapes and lines, the long and complex tracing of the true ownership of her–this house. Was anything really, truly hers?

The last paper fell, the one that started it all, that ended it all. It had one word (in Mr. Charles' bold yet flowing hand), in a big box with lots of arrows pointing to it. Her father's name. Her father. Her name.

She lay back in her bed, one pillow short. _Hers_. Mr. Charles had been right, of course he had, she just needed time to see it. She had her father, she had her name. She had her firm place to stand upon, and tomorrow she would start moving the world.

She was a Volkoff.

* * *

Today, at an unnamed winery in Northern California…

The tall man strode into the courtyard as if he owned the place, waiters and guests alike making way for him without a second's hesitation. He kept going. Eventually someone would stand his ground, and that was the man he wanted to see.

The French flag dominated one side of the courtyard, French wines in French bottles on proud French display. They were good at display. Casey had his usual reaction to other people's flags in _his_ country.

"You have some distaste for the _Tricolor_ , monsieur?"

"Oh, nothing that a couple of different colors couldn't cure," said Casey, not bothering to look at the questioner. "Was I that obvious?"

"Oui, monsieur," said the man, coming to stand beside Casey as they gazed on the flag. "I have seen that same look of disdain many times on the faces of my compatriots, as they are forced to listen to your American tourists mangle our mother tongue, asking for _le salle de bain_ when they really want _un toilette_."

Casey shrugged. "That's what they deserve for trying to speak a language that isn't English."

The other man sighed. "I am afraid I am forced to be amused by you, _meestair_ …?"

Casey smiled at the deliberate mispronunciation. "Carson," he said. " _Meestair_ John Carson, Wine  & Cigars magazine." He handed the man a beautifully fake business card.

"Pierre Melville." Pierre tucked the card into his pocket rather than try to shake hands.

"Why forced?" asked Casey.

"Because the proper alternative," Pierre pointed a finger at Casey like a dueling pistol at dawn, "Is illegal in both our countries."

Casey grunted thoughtfully. "Could always find a third country."

"Heeeere's Johnny," said a loud voice in a strong Southern accent. "Y'all can't get away from me that easy, John-John," continued Chuck effusively. "Who's yer friend?"

"Not sure friend is the right word, Mr. Charles." He did his duty, as always. "Pierre Melville, Mr. Charles, the publisher of Wine & Cigars."

Melville smirked. "So you are the hired help, Mr. Carson?"

"Expert opinion, more like," said Chuck, slapping Casey on the back. "Our Johnny here can tell a Bordeaux from a burgundy at fifty paces!"

"As could any French school-child," said Melville. "Are you going to introduce me to your…companion?"

"Hell, she ain't no companion," said Chuck with a laugh. "This here's my wife! Sarah? Sarah baby?" he turned and pulled her back around as she guzzled. "You want to go easy on that stuff," Chuck whispered loudly into her ear. "It ain't Two-Buck Chuck, y'know."

"But Charlie baby, it's just _every_ where!"

"Save some for the rest of the guests. Say hello to Mr. Melville, from France."

Sarah wiped excess wine from her lips with the back of her hand and smiled vacantly. "Howdy."

Melville bowed, not wanting to get any closer. He turned to Casey and favored him with a smile. "You are in good company, monsieur."

"Why, thank you kindly," said Sarah.

"I must go," said Melville, backing away. "The judging will commence shortly. Adieu."

"Gesundheit," said Chuck to the man's back. The accent faded with the grin. "That didn't take long."

"Told you so," said Casey. Rabid French nationalists were just too, too easy. "Pay up."

"Later," said Rye from the van. "Casey, you mingle and try to sniff out the chip. Chuck and Sarah, go inside and do the same thing. Make sure you split up, and Chuck? If you can manage to stumble across some of Melville's thugs, so much the better."

"Come on baby," said Mr. Charles, on stage again. "Let's let our hired help do his hired helping. What say you and me go check out the digs?"

* * *

Three eyes gazed down at them from above with high-power scopes. A patch covered the place where the fourth eye should have been, and gazed at nothing. "Inform Frost that our target has arrived." Neither man needed artificial enhancements to hear the Southern buffoon's shouted destination. "If you still need to."

* * *

Once inside, they split up as directed, Chuck heading for the stairs to the cellars, while Sarah took the upper floors. The ground floor rooms were beautiful but sterile, as one would expect for rooms that got rented out for a variety of business functions. She walked through them at a steady pace, her sensor idle in her hand, towards the back stairs, and the servants' quarters. That's where the action would be.

* * *

The assassins split up, one going to the back stairs, the other to the front, while the third kept his eye on the target. Agent Charles' team would never know what hit them.

Victor stopped on the upper floor landing. The ground floor would not hold any agent's interest long, so they were either already up here or soon would be. He listened at the door, hearing a slight rustle through the solid wood. He opened the door slowly on well-oiled hinges, just a crack, and spotted her, the blonde, moving from one office to another, quickly. He timed her searches, preparing to move into position. She went into an office and he moved, to wait in the office she would enter next, and last.

He heard the door across the hall open and readied his knife for a quick thrust and twist.

* * *

Down in the cellars, Chuck found a hall, and lots of doors. He opened up the first one on the right. Racks and racks of bottled wine, a few casks and barrels. Even with a sensor this could take forever.

Okay, assuming the courier came down here at all, with murderers after him he would have come down these stairs pretty much at a dead run. This room was on the wrong side, he'd have to turn around to get here, and he wouldn't waste the time or the speed. Chuck closed the door and crossed the hall, opening the door on another room, much the same as the first. He put his faith in science and closed the door behind him as he started his search.

* * *

Hercule had no door to hide behind, but there was no one in the hall to see him. His quarry must have already chosen a room to search. Hercule knew which room to look in, and went directly to that door, listening. Bottles clinked softly within, and he reached for his blade.

* * *

Casey used his cover to 'interview' a number of persons, and generally roam the grounds at will. About the only places he couldn't get close to were the displays themselves, roped off for the judging that was about to begin. People were beginning to gather, but so far his tracker hadn't buzzed once. Luckily he had other ways to know something was up.

Who was Melville talking to? And where was he going in such a hurry?

* * *

Down in the cellar, Hercule heard footsteps. Not from the room, from the stairs! _Merde_. He stepped across the hall and into another storeroom, waiting his chance.

* * *

Casey moved away from the crowd as they moved away from him. He raised his watch. "Melville's on the move. Side door, looks like he's headed for the cellars. Who's got eyes there?"

"Chuck?" Sarah's voice.

A tapping sound came over their earpieces. Chuck didn't dare make a louder sound. Rye had gotten his wish.

* * *

Victor heard her stop in the hall, saying "Chuck?" He heard her running off, back to the stairs. He risked a peek, and sure enough, she was gone. _Merde._ He went after her.

* * *

"The chip is in a bottle of '86 Chateau le Franc."

A whisper of sound, the sound of a whisper. Information that the rest of the team had to have, even if passing it to them meant his own capture and possible death. John Casey grimaced. The sort of thing _he_ would do. It wasn't Chuck's job to face capture and death, it was his. Or Sarah's. Or Rye's, and since it was Rye's hare-brained scheme that got Chuck into this mess, he had a double-helping of hurt coming. He'd send the fat bastard in for back-up, but Sarah had to be halfway there already, and she'd probably kill Rye herself.

"Movement."

Movement? Of what? Better not be Chuck, the last thing he should do is move. He should let the bad guys do that, make as much noise as they could to cover his reports.

"Casey, keep an eye out," said Sarah, sounding breathless as she ran down stairs. "There are some waiters coming your way, one of them must have the bottle."

Oh. The _bottle's_ movement. Great. Now he had to go hobnob with a bunch of snooty aristos while his partners got all the gunplay! Life just wasn't fair sometimes. He headed for the stands, and the formation of waiters emerging from the 'chateau'.

They lined up along the ropes, each with a different bottle. Casey pushed his way to the front and moved along the line, hand in pocket, holding the sensor tightly. Not in the first bottle, or the second. The third put out a signal, and he paused, wondering how he was going to get his hands on it, in the middle of this crowd. He moved all the way to the end, and came back. The buzzing sensor definitely indicated that bottle.

"You like that one, monsieur?" said Melville, standing behind the ropes, just a little breathless.

"It's a very good year," said Casey.

Melville pulled the waiter back a step, and moved into his space. "Then that one shall be our prize."

Casey straightened. "Prize? This isn't some county fair."

"No, monsieur, it is a field of honor, and I am challenging you to a duel, in front of all these assembled witnesses." Pierre lightly slapped Casey across the cheeks with his bare hand, since he didn't have the traditional white glove. "Unless, of course, you have no taste for single combat."

Casey smiled. "Oh, I've got more than a taste, Pierre. I accept your challenge, and I'll even offer a prize of my own." An attendant parted the line for Casey to pass through. He pulled the cigar that had been in his pocket all morning and laid it on the tray, label up. "This is a Costa Gravan Royale."

"The cigar of kings!"

"You've heard of them, that's good," said Casey. "I doubt you've ever smoked one before, though." _Unlike me_ was heavily implied.

Pierre bowed. "You have doubled the pleasure of my inevitable victory, monsieur."

"Then I hope you like being thought of while I smoke that cigar and drink that wine, Pierre."

"I think not, _meestair_ Carson. No taster in France has defeated me in over five years, I am not about to lose my reputation to some American _poseur_."

"Taster?"

"Of course. While we are in the wild American west, I at least am not some uncultured savage. This duel will be fought with wine."

* * *

Victor reached the hallway, but the woman was gone. A broken-off heel lay in the hall, outside the door of the room where they had left the dead agent. He heard her voice, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. Gunshots! He looked down at the knife in his hand and backed away, to the room across the hall, until a better opportunity presented itself. A hand grabbed him and threw him up against the stone wall. Hercule had the knife point under his comrade's jaw before he recognized him, and together they lay in wait.

* * *

 _How do I get myself into these things?_ His partners were in danger down in the cellars and he was playing Wyatt Earp. It didn't help that the MC seemed hell-bent on repeating everything he must have picked up from a quick google search on dueling, playing it up for the crowd. If he'd just let them drink, this whole ridiculous farce would be over already.

Finally the MC shut up, coming back to stand by the long-suffering waiter, forced to play podium holding the tray. Normally this was the part where he would ask them if there was no other way to satisfy their respective honors, but since this was wine, what was the point? "Gentlemen, are you ready?"

They nodded.

"Would our esteemed judges please present their choice?"

The esteemed judges were more than happy to do so, this was the most fun they'd had this year. They blocked the view of the table with their bodies as they selected a particular bottle and poured two equal glasses. Then they turned back, and another of the ubiquitous waiters took the small tray from them and brought it up to the MC, who removed the small card specifying the details of the vintage. The waiter stepped back and turned, offering the one glass to the challenger, and the other to the challenged.

Before they took their drinks, the MC added a final wrinkle. "If you gentlemen would be so kind, please write your decisions on these cards."

Casey took the small card with a slight grimace at the theatricality of it all. _If he plays the_ Final Jeopardy _theme song I may get to kill someone after all._ Pierre played it up, holding the glass to the light to examine the color, holding it up to his nose to take an exaggerated sniff of the bouquet.

Casey gritted his teeth. His friends were being shot at, dammit. "You about done there, Pierre?"

Melville gave Casey the Evil Eye, but then smiled. "I forget, you must soon leave here, to scurry off to your tiny cubicle, where you must write every detail of your humiliating defeat for your Wine and Cheese magazine."

"That's 'cigar'."

"I have met your publisher. 'Cheese' is more appropriate."

Casey chuckled. "You ain't lying. Cheers."

They drank, not more than a single mouthful. Attention turned inward, as each man focused on the taste of the dark liquid.

"Merveilleux," said Pierre.

"You got that right," said Casey, and both men wrote on their cards. The waiter brought them to the MC, who made a show of not looking at them just yet. He had to get out his glasses first, of course.

"Ahem, well, Monsieur Melville believes the vintage to be an '84 Black Stump Bordeaux, and in this he is completely correct. Well done, monsieur." The gathered audience clapped politely, as the MC checked the second card. "Mr. Carson has also written '84 Black Stump Bordeaux, very good, Mr. Carson, uh, to which he has added, early pressing. Judges?"

The three judges turned back to the table and picked up their chosen bottle, inspecting the label for the history, if any, and pouring samples for themselves. One quick taste-and-spit later–"Congratulations, Mr. Carson. Well done!"

Congratulations really to that French booze-snob, danger-close to being a caricature of his beloved culture, who made Casey sit through hours of tedious and ever-more-inebriated lecture as the demonstrations progressed. While Casey would have preferred that the stake-out had netted them anything at all, the otherwise-wasted night had at least earned him a solid grounding in the basics, and all those bartending gigs since then hadn't hurt.

Casey tuned out then MC's boring history of the Black Stump winery, and its apparently not-so-famous Split Harvest, delivered for the benefit of the audience. He reclaimed his cigar, and claimed the prize bottle, saluting his challenger with it. "Better luck next time." Melville stalked away, stiff with rage, but it would have been out of character for Casey to go after him. He strolled off into the crowd, accepting congratulations on all sides. Maybe he should start a real Wine & Cigars magazine.

As he reached the edge of the crowd, a large man, clearly having enjoyed a few too many free samples, lurched into Casey, almost causing him to drop his precious bottle. Combat reflexes saved the day, and Casey made it to the edge of the crowd and down the side stairswith no further mishaps. Now to see about his team.

"Stop!" said a thickly-accented voice. "Give me that bottle."

Casey turned. Melville had him flanked. "Sore loser, Pierre?"

"Do not fear, monsieur Carson," said Melville, taking the bottle. "I will return the contents of this to you, in due course." He gestured to his men. "I will pour them over your grave, but rest assured, I will drink them first."

Casey snorted. "Nice."

"C'est la vie. Adieu, monsieur."

His men raised their weapons but shots rang out before they fired any. "Casey," shouted Chuck, "We're coming!"

Melville backed off, his men giving him cover. "Another time," he said, brandishing the bottle. "But I will think of you!"

By the time Chuck and Sarah reached Casey, Melvile and his men were but the echoes of running feet. "Casey, what the hell?" Chuck panted. "You let them get away."

"With the chip!" added Sarah.

"Relax," said Casey, pulling out his Costa Gravan Royale. Time to reward himself for a job well done. "Rye and I switched bottles upstairs." The big blowhard knew _that_ much tradecraft, at least.

Chuck recognized that gleeful smile. "So what's Melville got?"

"A bottle of Old Smokey '68," said Casey, puffing his cigar to life. "A good year for that label, but it's only good for hand-to-hand combat. I can't be there when he takes his first swig, but I can promise you he'll be thinking of me tonight." He looked down. "What happened to your shoes?"

* * *

"Where is the body?" asked Frost. "Alexei instructed me to personally verify your kill, and you know how literal he can be."

Hercule spoke for them all. "There were…complications, Madame Frost."

Frost heard failure in his words. "Did you deal with these 'complications', at least?"

Hercule brought out his knife, pretended to examine its edge. "Monsieur Melville is not a happy man tonight."

"Melville lives?"

"Oui, madame."

Frost raised up her arm, revealing the gun she had trained on her subordinate. "You know how Alexei feels about failure, Hercule."

His knife was in the wrong position. He'd never be able to throw it before she could pull the trigger. Not that it mattered. If he killed Frost they were all dead men anyway. "Oui, madame."

Frost smiled. "Good boy." She held her gun more casually. "Fortunately this is not failure, not yet."

He held his knife less casually. "How so?"

"Pierre Melville is not the sort of man to take this sort of humiliation lying down," said Frost. "And the CIA is not the sort of agency to let an opportunity of this kind slip through their fingers." She holstered her gun. "Return to the winery. Agent Charles is famous for going back over his own tracks, and I'm betting he'll go over these."

Hercule raised his knife in salute. "I promise you, Madame Frost. Agent Charles dies tonight."


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N** One of my personal favorite scenes, Rye absconding with Chuck and Sarah with her rocket launcher. Movie references include The Avengers and The Incredibles, and of course Mary Bartowski had to get the line from Terminator. Agent Rye gets a chance to prove that even idiots can be right sometimes, and even someone as clever as Mary can make a mistake sometimes.

This chapter is the turning point of the whole season, for Chuck, Sarah, and Vivian.

* * *

Six days ago…

"Good afternoon, Miss Volkoff. My name is Riley, I'm your father's attorney. What can I do for you?"

For a second she hesitated, feeling like a child on the edge of a cliff. She hardly knew what she wanted, much less what to ask for, especially from a total stranger.

"Miss Volkoff?"

"Yes, Mr. Riley," she said quickly. "I…have request that may sound a little odd."

Riley chuckled in a friendly manner. "I've been your father's attorney for more than two decades, miss. I doubt there's any request you could make that he hasn't done one better."

She took courage from his tone. "Well, about ten days ago, there was an…altercation here at the manor."

"More than that, according to the reports that crossed my desk."

Of course he would know, he was responsible for the house, that's how she'd found him. Chuck's map was admirably thorough. "Yes, exactly. I'm afraid I was in a bit of shock at the time, and I fear I was less effusive in my praise than I should have been." Surely he could hear her face turning red over the phone. "I was hoping it would be possible to contact the leader of the team that assisted me, so that I may…express my gratitude… more fully?" God, she was trembling!

Riley didn't seem to hear it. "What is this team leader's name?"

"It was an American team, led by a Mr. Charles."

He hummed into the phone. "The name doesn't sound familiar," he said, as if he kept track of foreign agency personnel as a matter of course. Perhaps he did. "Do you have any other names I can use?"

Ergh. "There was a Miss Sarah Walker involved," she muttered.

"Ah," said Riley. "Now that's a name I know very well. You just leave everything to me, Miss Volkoff, and I'll get your message through to Mr. Charles myself."

* * *

Today…

"Excellent work, team," said General Beckman. "The chip is recovered, the details of our Black Op sites in Europe are secure, but the mission isn't over. You have provided us with an opportunity."

 _Uh-oh, General-being-clever alert!_ "What opportunity would that be, General?" asked Chuck, pulling at his tie.

"Pierre Melville has not yet left California, he appears to be suffering from some kind of food poisoning."

"Wine poisoning, more like," said Casey, smugly.

"Be that as it may, Colonel," said Beckman, "The point is, he is still in the area, and he still wants the chip. Fortunately for him, one of our own has turned traitor, and has contacted Mr. Melville through back channels to make a deal."

"We have to go back?" said Casey.

"Not you, Colonel. Judging from your report, I think it safe to say that Melville wouldn't buy water from _you_ if his head was on fire. While not a member of the team, Mr. Rye has agreed to be our traitor. Not only was he in a position to make a second switch, Mr. Melville hasn't seen his face."

Chuck raised his hand. "I…would hope that, instead of the chip, Agent Rye will be selling him a different chip, or maybe even a long-range homing beacon, so we can track him to whatever hole he's hiding in and root out his entire network."

Beckman gave Chuck an approving smile. "Spot on, Mr. Charles. You took the words right out of my mouth. Manoosh should be finished making the false chip soon. Agent Rye, you will leave immediately after that. Agent Charles will be your backup. Good luck, team." The screen went black.

Rye turned to give Chuck a devil-may-care grin. "You ready to rumble, Chuck?"

"Chuck's not an agent, Mr. Rye," said Sarah. "I'm your backup tonight."

* * *

Later, in DC...

Beckman's phone buzzed. "Yes, Mr. Clark?"

"Doctor on line one, ma'am."

"Thank you," she said and hung up, leaving Mr. Clark confused. The General never said thank you.

"Ellie," said Beckman, before realizing that her mouth was faster than her hand. She pressed the button. "Ellie."

The face that popped up on the monitor looked awful, in spite of everyone's attempts to make Ellie take a few more naps, but her smile was genuine. "Good news, General."

The last time Ellie had called with good news, the news had been very good. "You have an antitoxin?"

"Correct. How soon can they get back here?"

Beckman checked the time, even though she knew it was too late to stop the ball she'd already set in motion. "Certainly not today, they're backstopping another agent on an assignment."

"They're what? General, they aren't supposed to be leaving Castle for any reason. Send Carina if it's that important."

"Agent Miller is currently tied up on another assignment…"

* * *

At that moment, somewhere in LA…

Carina dangled from the ceiling, clutching on to the rope to keep the cuffs from digging into her wrists. Her captors had been steadily removing books from under her feet in an attempt (a pathetic attempt, but an attempt) to get her to talk, and they were down to the last one, a thick copy of War and Peace. "I'll tell you what," she said. "You let me go now and I'll let you live."

* * *

Back in DC…

"…but Agent Rye is more than capable of handling this drop. I only sent Agent Bartowski as support because the rules require it, and she was the…least unqualified."

She tried to be amused, but she was too tired. "What did Casey do this time?" said Ellie through a yawn.

Beckman wasn't above a little blackmail. "I'll send you the report when you've had a decent night's sleep."

"Fine, I'll sleep on the flight."

"What flight?"

"The flight to LA." Ellie held up a little vial of a precious liquid. "If they can't come to me then I have to go to them."

* * *

Later that same day, California time…

"Hey, Chuck. Can I talk to you for a minute? I'm on my way out, and once the mission's over I probably won't be coming back, so this will likely be our last chance to talk together."

Chuck stood, noticing Casey rolling his eyes as he did. "Sure, Agent Rye."

"Come on, walk with me. And please, call me Jim. I think we can safely say that my part in your evaluation is over."

"We can?"

"Absolutely. You aren't motivated by pride, or deterred by pain, and really, your hands should be pretty sore from whacking them against my body–"

Chuck flexed his hands. "Pretty sore, yeah."

"That reminds me, let me get some Advil for the road." They stopped outside the first aid station and Rye ducked inside to grab a small bottle. "As for fear, well, my two ninja swords and Melville's large burly thugs should have gotten enough high-octane fear in you to lift _three_ Intersect rocks."

Chuck struggled to find something clever to say, all the way up the stairs and ladders to ground level. "Um…yeah."

"So that's why I'm thinking it's not fear at all, although for the life of me I can't figure out what else it might be. You don't get angry, do you?"

Chuck gestured around them, taking in the whole ruined loading dock. "I worked in this Buy More for five years."

"I guess not." They stopped at Rye's car. "Well, so long, Chuck. Off I go to the land of wine and…hmm. Wine and romance. What do you think about romance, Chuck?"

Romance as a trigger? "Are we talking about the Intersect, or something else entirely?"

"No, not me, you goof," said Rye, waving his hands. "Although I _am_ flattered. The thing is, I sent Agent Charles to scout the drop site a while ago." He gave Chuck a little man-to-man smirk. "Seems kind of a shame to let a balcony overlooking a vineyard under a full moon go to waste now."

For a moment Chuck's gaze went all soft and unfocused, visions of _The Princess Bride_ playing in his head. "Yeah."

Rye opened the door and grabbed Chuck's arm, shoving him inside while his wits were on perfect kisses. "Well, what are we waiting for? I'm already behind schedule."

The slamming of the door brought Chuck back to his senses. "But…" He turned to point at the loading dock as Rye leapt into his car and floored it out of the No Parking zone. "Hey…" He fumbled his seat belt on as Rye raced to keep his appointment. His hand brushed against something hard in his pocket, and he pulled out his phone. "Casey…"

"Call him from the road, Chuck, we're on CIA time now."

Chuck started tapping. "Is that different from Pacific Standard…that's strange. I can't get through."

"Is your phone upgraded to the new security protocols that came through this morning?"

 _What new security protocols?_ "No."

"Well, too late now, I guess. Get that taken care of when you get back."

"Can I use your phone?"

"Chuck, I'm driving here," said Rye. "I haven't got attention to spare to enter my password. Or don't you obey the laws of this great nation?"

Chuck watched the traffic lights whizzing by, especially the red ones… "I do."

"Don't worry, Chuck, we'll get there in a couple of hours, you can call in then. This car has every anti-detection device known to man, it's practically invisible, so I can really open her up," said Rye. "You'd have to have a very determined driver and a very fast car to keep with _this_ baby."

* * *

Back in Castle...

Sarah opened the door onto the Twilight Zone. Casey sat at the table, a cigar on one side, a glass of wine on the other, his feet up as he read the latest issue of Guns & Ammo magazine. She'd never seen him so…relaxed. "Where's Chuck?"

"Rye came by," said Casey, turning a page. "Said he wanted to chat, probably just wanted Chuck to keep the door from hitting him on the way out."

Sarah pulled up the monitors by reflex. By instinct. Rye's car was gone, but where was Chuck? She backtracked the recording. "The Hell!"

Casey swung into action immediately. "What's up, Bartowski?"

"Rye kidnapped Chuck!" She ran it back again. "Where's the audio?"

Casey checked the console, but it all looked normal. "It's the loading dock, audio was always buggy. Look, he shoves Chuck in but our boy isn't trying to get away."

"Rye must have said something." She pulled out her gun and checked the load.

Casey took over the rewind. "He's not showing his face to the cameras. Moving fast, like he knows he only has seconds." Casey grunted, and pressed a button.

"What?"said Sarah, as she put on her armor.

"The car must have sonic baffles. Watch him pull out. That much delta-V should have made a noise even the audio would pick up. Explains why I didn't hear anything suspicious at the time."

The screen lit up, but no one was looking at Beckman's face when it appeared. She caught on to the kicked-anthill atmosphere immediately. "What's going on, Colonel?"

Casey seconded the main screen to something local so he wouldn't have to turn around. "Agent Rye loaded Chuck into his car and took off at high speed. Chuck did not appear to be resisting." He put the playback on her monitor.

Beckman waited until she'd seen what there was to see. "He kidnapped the Intersect?"

Another window opened. Ellie, looking like some flight attendant had just woken her up.

"He's not!" shouted Sarah. "He's just Chuck!"

Ellie's face lost its bleary-eyed expression. "Why are you carrying a rocket launcher?"

"Agent Rye just absconded with your brother," said Beckman.

"Agent Bartowski's going to get him back," said Casey.

"This is for the second person who gets in my way," said Sarah. The CIA Nerd Herder already had one missile built in.

"You need speed, not firepower," said Casey. "He's already on the Five, headed North."

"With Casey quarterbacking from Castle, you'll need backup as well. Agent Miller is in LA." Beckman pressed a button.

" _We need you to come in to Castle, Microscope."_ Mr. Clark's voice.

" _I'm working. These idiots are telling me everything."_

"Monologuing ploy gets 'em every time," muttered Casey.

" _Eagle-Eye has been kidnapped by one of ours."_

A slight pause. _"On my way."_

Beckman cut the line over sounds of destruction as Carina rearranged her schedule. "There may be a slight delay."

"Would a '68 Ford Mustang help?" asked Ellie.

"Why, you have one?"

"No, but my father does. It's in Burbank somewhere."

"There's a lot of stuff in Burbank somewhere," said Sarah, all business. "I don't know how to contact Orion. And after all I've done, trying to hunt him down for what he tried to do to Chuck, how am I supposed to get him to tell me where it is, much less let me use it?"

Every screen in Castle went black. SAY PLEASE.

* * *

Travelling upstate, on the Five…

"You know, Chuck," said Rye suddenly. "You really had me fooled."

"How?" said Chuck. While he liked Ferris Wheels (or at least, he _had_ liked Ferris Wheels, right up until that whole Jill debacle), he'd never been big on roller coasters, and Agent Rye's driving skills forcibly reminded him why. "How did I have you fooled?"

"About you being an agent."

"I'm _not_ an agent."

"But are you sure about that? Because I've been watching you in action these last couple of days and I have to tell you, no one looks more like an agent than you do."

Chuck looked at his hands, clutching whatever part of the car was solidest. "Right now?"

"What, you're scared?"

"Uh-huh."

"Spies get scared, Chuck."

"Sarah doesn't get scared."

"Agent Charles lives every moment of every day in stark terror of what might happen to you, Chuck, and like all spies, she's been trained to channel that fear, use it, to make sure that nothing ever will. She doesn't want you to have that training, to be the agent she knows you could be. It's why cops don't marry cops."

Chuck already knew what kind of agent he could be. "Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt."

"You don't really think it's that easy, do you?" asked Rye. "Nobody ever loses anything, Chuck, you least of all. They just forget it, but it's all there. Somewhere in your psyche are the rags and ashes of that T-shirt, waiting for you to put them on again."

 _Carlos Carmichael esta muerte._ "Never again."

"You may not have a choice. You may not even know that you're doing it," said Rye. "But what you _do_ have, Chuck, is the power, right now, to make yourself into the kind of man who wears his T-shirt, instead of a man whose T-shirt wears him."

"What does that even mean?"

"Don't ask me, it's your metaphor. Now here's the deal, Chuck. Somewhere up ahead of us is your wife, and a bunch of bad guys. When we get there, do you want her to see you die, or do you want her to see you save the day?"

"Those are my choices? What happened to romance?"

"Romance comes after, Chuck. You need to focus on right now."

If only the car made some noise. The green windshield, the thermal imaging and the computer control made it feel like he was in his Intersect Fortress of Solitude, even though Rye was there so technically it wasn't solitude, and the world outside was movie playing at the wrong speed. Anything but now. "Oh, okay, uh, save the day, I guess."

Rye shook his head. "You're gonna have to do better than that, Chuck. That 'I guess' has got to go. Now, I'm going to accelerate to attack speed, and go into a light meditative trance while I drive, so I don't get there too tired to do anything." The numbers on the car's speedometer started to climb, but Chuck couldn't feel it. "I encourage you to do the same, try to polish as much of that 'I guess' off of your spirit as you can before it catches on something."

* * *

Later, at an unnamed winery…

Sarah pulled up to the gate, grateful that someone had arranged to have new tires put on the Mustang. Orion had tinkered with just about everything else. Even if she hadn't heard one county after another put out a 'do not approach order' on her on the scanner, they couldn't have caught up to her anyway.

And besides, she still had the rocket launcher.

Rye's car was exactly where she expected it to be, under cover of darkness from the blindingly bright full moon, and wouldn't _that_ make her life just that extra touch more difficult. Her phone's screen revealed nothing inside, except a plain briefcase with her name on it, and some GPS coordinates.

He wanted _her_ to make the drop?

Sarah took the case, grateful that she'd left the rocket launcher in the car. She'd need it the next time she saw Rye.

* * *

"Where's Sarah?" asked Chuck, as they walked out onto the moonlit expanse of the balcony overlooking the majestic sweep of the vineyards. "Wow, this is beautiful."

"Yeah, sometimes the scenery makes me cry," said Rye. "It's great to be a spy."

"I wish Sarah was here. You know, really here. Like you said she'd be."

"No, I didn't, Chuck. I said this is where we'd find her." He handed Chuck a set of optics, with another for himself. "Right over there." He pointed.

* * *

Seven eyes watched from the shadows as the transaction went down. "Do we kill them now?"

"Let him go," said Frost."He'll get what's coming to him. The fool didn't even check what he was buying. You can kill the woman."

* * *

"Sarah!" shouted Chuck helplessly as the three armed men surrounded his wife.

"You need to flash, Chuck," shouted Rye. "Don't flash for yourself, flash for her, she needs you!"

Chuck felt…something, the usual sensation of a flash but not the same. "I felt–I felt something, Rye, but I don't know if it was a flash. How do I know?"

"Incoming!"

* * *

Down in the woods…

Three muffled shots pierced the darkness, and the three male figures. Sarah turned as they fell around her, to see a familiar woman step from the shadows. "Hello, _dear._ "

"What are you doing?" She looked at the dead men but her eyes came back to the gun in Frost's hand.

"They planned to betray me," said Frost. "Sell Chuck, rather than kill him as I ordered."

* * *

Up on the balcony…

Men swarmed upon them from out of the Chateau, striking at Chuck and Rye alike. Rye fought heroically, Chuck fought...ably, side by side, but the low railing of the balcony that was hip high on Rye was not so high for Chuck, and at a sudden shove he tumbled over the edge, catching himself on the decorative stonework. "Rye! Help me!"

* * *

Frost tensed as Sarah's eyes went wide, but her daughter-in-law made no move to attack. She spun as Frost took a step back, seeing all the struggling men on the balcony. "Chuck?"

Frost pulled a scope from her pocket, trying to keep Sarah in view as she looked through the eyepiece. "Those aren't Melville's men."

Sarah ran. Frost followed.

* * *

Rye fought alone as Chuck hung helplessly. "Flash, Chuck," he shouted between punches. "If you fall you're dead. She's dead too!"

"I can't flash! I'm not the Intersect!"

"Don't be the Intersect," said Rye, down to one man and not much of him. "Be an agent. Can you do that?"

Chuck could do…something. The world went away, not a flash but something like it.

Chuck stood in his fortress, untouched by time. This was Now. He checked his readouts. The body was tense, so he relaxed it. The fingers were slipping. He loaded rock-climbing skills into an active register. So many skills. Why so many? The Now had no answers, so Chuck looked up at his monitors, his eyes on the world. Others who needed him, whatever he was. Rye fighting. Sarah surrounded by killers.

Sarah.

The world sped up again, his fingers securing their purchase as he hung, limp. _Whatever he was._ "I'm not sure I'm an agent, Rye," he shouted.

Rye stood over him, looking down as he dangled. "Not good enough, Chuck."

Chuck looked up. "But…I'm not sure I'm…not an agent, either."

Rye smiled. "Much better!" He clapped his hands together. "I can work with that."

A shot rang out, and Rye's chest erupted in gore.

"And so can I, agent," said the shooter, an elderly man.

"I–I've been shot?" asked Rye.

The old man gave him a gentle push, and Rye tumbled off the balcony. "How astute of you." He looked down at Chuck. "Take my hand or die, Agent Charles."

Under the circumstances, Chuck decided not to correct the man. He took the hand. The old guy was surprisingly strong, and pulled him up easily. Chuck was too weak to resist as he was cuffed. He barely noticed the injection, making his head spin. "You don't sound French."

"I am not French, Agent Charles. I am…Belgian."

* * *

When Sarah reached the balcony it was empty, except for Chuck's watch. The only man left was Rye, down below, a mess on the masonry.

Her phone rang. Chuck's caller ID, but almost certainly not Chuck. "Hello?"

"If you attempt to follow I will kill the Intersect," said the accented voice. "This is your only warning." The call ended, and most likely the phone ended too.

Sarah heard a footstep behind her. She turned, and there was Frost, sans gun. "Who was that?"

"Aldebert De Smet," said Frost. "The Belgian. My men made a mistake but I made a worse one."

"He knows Chuck is the Intersect."

Frost nodded. "He must. He'd never have revealed himself otherwise."

"I have to get back," said Sarah. "We have to get him back, we can't let De Smet get away."

"The Belgian is not in the habit of making idle threats," said Frost. "Any pursuit now will get Chuck killed. Come with me, if you want him to live."


	33. Dead Like Me

A/N Mostly a re-presentation of the events of the previous chapter, from different points of view. In this case, Carina and Casey briefing the General on what they found once they got to the winery. The word 'flapper' in this story, is not a term for a prostitute, but a reference to the book Gulliver's Travels, where a person who controlled access to another person, by means of flaps, was called a flapper.

This also the first in my TV series. The episodes in the rest of this arc take their names from a number of my favorite TV shows, most of which got cancelled early. Dead Like Me had a terrific mythology behind it.

* * *

Four days ago…

Vivian Volkoff returned from her morning run with Artemis to find a light blinking on the phone. "Miss Volkoff," it said, when she pressed the button. "Sam Riley here. I have a report on that action item you gave me a few days ago. Please call me back."

 _A what on the what?_ For once she was glad to be alone. Even the memory of that conversation brought blushes to her cheeks. She entered the number, wondering just what exactly she had stammered out that anyone, much less a lawyer for a man like her father, would consider an action item. "Mr. Riley?" The crop in her hand tapped a quick beat against the blotter. Did Chuck respond? Call back? Did he…want to see her?

"Miss Volkoff," he said, sounding pleased. "Thank you for getting back to me so quickly, but I'm afraid I have bad news. My agent Damian tried to get a message to this Mr. Charles, as you asked, but all attempts to contact him through Miss Walker were rejected."

Rejected? So she wasn't even going to be allowed to talk to him or…anything? Vivian striped the blotter with her crop. Who did Miss Walker think she was? "Is there anyone else there you can go through?" Did Chuck even know what this, this _flapper_ was doing behind his back?

"She has a few known associates we could try, but the problem is bigger than just Miss Walker. Your father has, for reasons of his own, quashed any attempts to contact Mr. Charles or any of his team."

"He what? No!" Snap! The crop broke on the back of a wooden chair.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

She eyed the broken remains. "I quite understand." No underling would ever try to gainsay her father.

He sounded relieved. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

The broken crop fell into the trash. "Yes." She was not an underling. "Could you make the arrangements for me to get to Moscow, as soon as possible, please?"

* * *

Today…

General Beckman looked at her briefing team. "Where are Chuck and Sarah?"

"Unknown, General," said Casey. "Portable trackers have all been recovered. Chuck's internal chip isn't screaming, but it's not registering either."

Beckman visibly braced herself, and started recording. "Agent Miller, your report?"

Carina took the center position behind the meeting table in Castle, with Casey at her side. She finished hooking up her phone to the network, and put a bulging bag on the table. "I got to this party so late that even the waiters had gone home." Carina opened the bag, and removed Sarah's phone. "The emergency beacon went off when I was about fifteen minutes out. Casey was all gung-ho to mobilize but I convinced him to wait until I'd triaged the scene, and it was just as well. We needed a cleaner team, not back-up. And a lot of extra drivers."

"Manoosh and Sam really stepped up," put in Casey. Beckman made a note.

"They _did_ look a little green," said Carina. She uploaded a series of photographs from her phone to a computer, and put them on the monitor. "Here's why. Our kidnapper, Jim Rye, and three backup singers a lot farther than twenty feet from fame." She put up another image, a graphic of the vineyard buildings and fields for the benefit of tourists, and zoomed in a bit. "First of all, apparently it wasn't a kidnapping. Rye left a note for Sarah in his car." She put up a sixth picture.

Casey mumbled to himself as he read it. "'Please act scared'?"

"It was all a test for Chuck?"

Carina shrugged. "Gotta give him points for realism. I found his body under a balcony, which is where I guess he and Chuck were. He'd been shot in the back, and he must have fallen. He looked kind of splatted. Anyway, if you go up there–" she marked the balcony with a light pen, "You can see the spot marked by the coordinates in the note." A circle, a good distance away. "That's where I found the other three." Mark, mark, and mark.

"It looks like they were surrounding something."

"They had knives out, too." She removed three wicked-looking knives from the bag and laid them on the table.

Casey grunted, uninterested in knives. "Assassins, probably. Pros."

"Agent Bartowski?"

Carina opened up a facial recognition app and dropped the three images into it. "I'd say yes, but that means there would have been a fifth person there, since they were shot from the trees." Mark. "I have the casings and they don't look like Sarah's." She reached into a pocket for the casings and scattered them on the table next to the knives.

"Not the right caliber for Agent Bartowski," said Casey. He picked up one of the casings. "Too sloppy, as well."

"Maybe," said the General. "Or maybe they had more important things on their minds. Until we know the sequence of events who can say? Was there any surveillance anywhere?"

"Not at the drop site, ma'am," said Casey, holding up a stick, "But the balcony was covered."

"Let's see it, Colonel."

Casey plugged in the stick and called up the stolen security footage, moving the window to the General's monitor.

The clock started that morning, a standard interval that would be recorded and then dumped if there was no reason to keep it. The Balcony was pretty quiet most of the day, with most of the action taking place down below. A few guests went up there, flickering as Casey moved the window along the slider to get the playback into the correct range.

Something moved, and he went back. A couple, using one of the decorative benches for a non-decorative purpose. Probably why they had cameras in the first place. "Ha," said Carina, "Told you."

"And I told you not to tell me." Casey moved the slider away from the contaminated area. "Okay, here we go."

* * *

Aldebert De Smet hated loose ends. The initial pick-up was the loosest end of all, the end he was most likely to trim if it seemed ready to snag and foul an operation. If an investment must be lost, best lose it early.

People thought him heartless, cruel, but truly he was not. One warning was all he gave, any more and people would cling to hope, and hope was far crueler than he, a knife that people cut themselves on again and again. Over time, lost time, lost investments, they had learned to trust his solid word over any hope.

He even cleaned up after himself, a final, often unappreciated, kindness.

First, to begin the next stages, now that the initial capture was complete. He made the call as his men trans-shipped the case containing Agent Charles from the muffled helicopter to the disguised jet. "Doctor Mueller, prepare your machines. We have our prize." Today, once again, his warning had been heeded, and he would reward that obedience. Once he got what he wanted, none of Agent Charles' team would ever see him again, ever suffer the knowledge of what had been done to him.

It was the least he could do.

* * *

Casey, Carina, and General Beckman watched as Rye walked out onto the balcony as if he owned it, while Chuck had the sense to at least check before revealing himself. He seemed to be a little annoyed by something, too, but the recording didn't have audio and they were facing the wrong way for lip reading.

Rye handed Chuck a pair of optics and pointed.

"That's the direction Sarah would have been in," said Carina helpfully.

Chuck suddenly tensed, and shouted.

"Looks like the assassins just came out," said Casey.

Rye could clearly be seen saying the word 'flash' several times, gesticulating wildly in Sarah's direction. His plan seemed to work, as Chuck got a very strange look on his face.

"Was that a flash?" asked the General. It didn't look like anything she'd seen him do before.

"Seemed like one," said Carina, who'd only seen a few herself.

"Not–dammit, they've got company!" Several men burst through the doorway, and Chuck and Rye immediately went on the offensive. Chuck fought well, but not Intersect-level well, and was soon literally pushed out of the fight. Rye fought on alone, continuing to exhort Chuck to flash as he did.

"What just happened?" asked Carina.

Casey pulled it back, and they watched it again. "I don't see anything."

"What's Chuck doing?" asked the General.

Casey pulled it back again, and they watched Chuck…not move. "He's gone limp."

"Best thing for him," said Casey. "Saving his energy for better things…look at his hands."

"What about his hands, this video is crap."

Rye finished off the last man, and turned to look down at Chuck. Chuck said something, and Rye looked very pleased with himself, even more so than usual. Until a man stepped onto the balcony unnoticed, behind him, and raised a gun. Until his chest blew outward in a spray of red.

"Whoa!"

"All it takes is one," muttered Casey. One bullet. One mistake.

The unknown man stepped forward and gave Rye a push, then pulled Chuck up all by himself. No one was surprised that after clinging to the railing for several minutes Chuck had no strength to resist, and given that demonstration of strength, resistance would have been futile anyway. His watch came off and a pair of cuffs went on.

"Needle!" said Carina.

Casey grunted.

Carina pointed a finger at him in warning. "Don't say it."

Casey's grunt trailed off into a disappointed whine.

Chuck collapsed, the old man collected his prize and his minions, and they left. A large shadow passed overhead a few moments later and then…there was Sarah. She dropped a bag on the floor and went straight to the place where her husband had dangled. She pulled out her phone, as another woman appeared on the balcony behind her.

"Frost?"

"She was the shooter?"

* * *

Somewhere over the Pacific…

Sarah sat in one of the comfortable chairs and declined a drink, as did her 'hostess'. Sarah's gun was a comforting weight, but that's about all it could be, given their altitude and speed. A guest, of sorts, but she could be made a prisoner easily enough, if Frost ever felt so minded. Their family tie seemed a slender thing right now. "Did you really order those men to kill Chuck?"

An interesting opening, thought Frost. Most players would be trying to diminish her position as best they could, given their obvious inequality of forces. What could Sarah be hoping for, guilt? Far too late for that. "Yes."

Sarah nodded, slightly. _Yet here they were, racing to the rescue._ A trap, or a masterful improvisation, the kind Chuck was so good at? Not even Frost would have planned all this. "Why?"

Frost didn't blink. "Alexei told me to."

Sarah didn't blink. No doubt he had and she had, but Frost was no lackey. She'd obey, give the order, but her reasons would always be her own. Volkoff would have to be a fool to think otherwise. "Would you have let them do it?"

Frost had seen that trap coming long since. "We'll never know now, will we?" she said, as if unsure. "Under other circumstances, I might have had to be considerably more lenient." She gave Sarah a measuring look. "Good help can be so…hard to find."

* * *

Sarah's face was to the camera as she took the phone call, but since she said nothing, that didn't help them. They saw Sarah turn toward Frost as she made her entrance, but the fear on Sarah's face had nothing to do with her mother-in-law.

Casey paused the playback.

"Agent Miller, check Sarah's phone's log," said Beckman. "Find out where that call came from."

Carina scrolled through the history. "According to this it came from Chuck's phone."

"Did you recover it?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Casey. "Most of it, anyway. Probably a high-altitude toss from the helicopter."

"No way to know who she was just speaking to."

"Not directly, ma'am, but I'd bet good money that that's the first thing Sarah said here, and both of them are facing our camera." He started the file, but while Sarah's question was clear, none of them could tell if Frost spoke a name or not to answer it. He paused the recording again.

"When we're done, upload the file, Colonel, and I'll get a lip-reading analysis done ASAP."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Let's continue with this nightmare." She'd hoped to have better news for Ellie when she got in to Castle, but that didn't look like it was going to happen.

Fortunately there wasn't much nightmare to continue with. Sarah tried to push past Frost, but Frost brought her up short with a few words.

"Uh-oh," said Carina.

"Did she just say what I think she said?"

"Only if what you think she said was 'can Volkoff get Chuck back?' No, Sarah!"

Video-Sarah wasn't listening as she stripped off her own watch, leaving it and her phone in the bag at Frost's direction.

"Did she just wink at us?" asked Carina. "If Sarah doesn't kill her I will."

"What's her game?" asked Casey.

"Aside from taking advantage of her son's wife in a moment of weakness?"

"Yes, Agent Miller, aside from that," said Beckman, "Agent Frost would have plans within plans, and turning Sarah would only be part of one of them."

"So what do we do?" asked Carina, as Casey uploaded the file.

"There's only one thing we can do at this point," said Beckman. "Colonel Casey, Agent Miller, I need you to execute Protocol Seven immediately."

Casey's head came up, an expression of confusion on his face. His General looked at him expectantly, then at Carina. He followed her gaze.

Carina Miller pulled out her gun and shot Casey twice in the chest at point blank range.

* * *

Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, the Belgian roused himself at the urging of a small clock. The drug he'd given Agent Charles would be wearing off soon. Time for the next part of Phase One. Dr. Mueller had given him a raft of drugs and a specific timetable for injection, all calculated to leave Agent Charles in an optimal state for his mechanisms. Giving injections was the only part of the acquisition process he'd bothered to master for himself, and he prepared the next needle with an experienced hand. De Smet opened the box, and scanned the readouts of the devices inside. All well below normal, as expected, but they would be rising soon, and Agent Charles would be rising with them, into a chemically-induced nightmare. From that nightmare, and all the others to follow, there would be only one escape, the one allowed by Aldebert De Smet. When Agent Charles used that exit, gave De Smet what he wanted, only then would the Belgian allow Agent Charles to die.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N** I love dream sequences. Phase Three wasn't about the dream sequences, though, or De Smet's plot, whatever it was. They just wanted to have a reason for Sarah to wreak havoc. Those scenes were fun, so I left them alone, and did more with the dreams, and with the fact that it takes a long time to get to Thailand. In some ways I made my job much harder by putting a chip in Chuck that would let them track him anywhere. So much angst on the show was created out of them acting like soap opera characters and _not_ intelligent spies.

* * *

Three days ago…

Vivian Volkoff awoke, staring at the ceiling. She'd stared at that ceiling most of her life, always the same bland, boring color. Eggshell. Ecru. Lots of words that a piratical language like English had appropriated from all over the globe, all meaning pretty much the same thing. Almost (but not quite) lacking any color at all. Next step from nothing.

Suddenly she hated that ceiling. Hated this bed, this room, this house.

Hated Artemis.

She sat up, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her face in them. _This has to end._

The phone rang.

She reached for it blindly. Lord knew the thing hadn't changed its position in years. "Hello?"

"Miss Volkoff? Sam Riley here."

Her heart leaped. Her head came up. "Yes, Mr. Riley?"

"I made the arrangements to get you to Moscow, as you requested. I'm afraid the corporate jet is being held in America, so I had to charter you a flight, but you will be in Moscow tonight."

He was so nice. "You didn't have to go to all that trouble, Mr. Riley, a simple commercial flight would have sufficed."

"For the daughter of Alexei Volkoff? Not if I want to keep my hea…uh, my position!"

She laughed. "I'm not the Red Queen, your head and position are quite safe."

"Thank you, Miss Volkoff," said Riley, sounding relieved. "Flight time to Moscow is three and a half hours, so if you have a target time, let me know and I'll pass it along to the crew, so they can get the plane prepped."

She had her own preparations to make. "Maybe I could surprise my father and take him to dinner."

"Uh, surprising Alexei Volkoff is neither easy nor wise, miss," said Riley. "In any event, at the moment he's abroad, but I'm informed he'll be returning to Moscow tomorrow. We could certainly have you in Moscow in time for dinner, though."

Then she had a thought. "Are you in Moscow, Mr. Riley?"

* * *

Today…

John Casey awoke, flat on his back on something that may have been a mattress five thousand years ago, staring at a ceiling fixture. He went to shade his eyes, only to find his hands were fastened down snugly with much more modern leather straps. He raised his head to look down the length of him, so many straps!

A friendly, familiar face moved into his view. "Good morning, sleepy-head," said Ellie, brushing his hair back out of habit, even though it was nowhere near as long as her brother's.

"Ellie?" he said, only then noticing the plastic cup that was strapped around his mouth and nose. "What are you doing here? What is this?"

"It's called an ether mask," said Ellie, removing it. "A low-tech means of delivering anesthetics."

He'd seen them in the field. "You kept me drugged? How long was I out?"

"I was in LA before Carina ever shot you, John," said Ellie. "In fact I've been waiting for you to wake up. She hit you with two darts, mainly to guarantee she took you down before you broke her neck."

Right now John felt like the only way he could break an egg was by dropping it, which would be disturbingly easy to do. "I don't understand," he said. "I would never hurt Carina, just don't–"

"Tell her you said so, I know." Ellie didn't try to undo any of the straps. "Not when you're in your right mind, you wouldn't," she said, "But you haven't been in your right mind for over a week, none of you have."

"None of…us?" How many of him were there?

"You, Chuck, and Sarah," said Ellie. "Frost warned us about the effects of that gas you inhaled. It's one of the reasons we sent Manoosh here."

"That little twerp's been spying on us?" No wonder he'd been underfoot all damn day long.

"Observing and reporting," corrected Ellie. Even with fear toxin, it would have taken serious effort for Manoosh of all people to be perceived as a threat. Since that was the last thing any of them wanted, anything that might be taken as 'spying' was right out. "All of you had your own methods of coping, some more effective than others. For you it was aggression."

 _Heh._ "This is supposed to surprise me?"

"I suppose not," she said, with a bit of sadness."Carina said you were quite the monster, back in the lab. She hit you with two darts then, too, but you didn't drop."

No, he didn't. His head had cleared, a little, and he recognized the woman who'd shot him, gun raised and ready to do it again. He would have gone after that gun, gone after her, if that gnome scientist hadn't come shrieking down the hall, reminding Casey who his enemies really were. Not that he'd call Carina a friend, really. But she knew what had to be done and she…did it.

"Why did you leave the team, John?"

He'd left his team. Abandoned his crew, and for what? He couldn't remember what for. He could remember the feel of the gun in his hand, the taste and burn of the liquor, but he couldn't remember that. The thought, the lack of a memory, chilled him. Not in his right mind? Not in _any_ mind. "I…I had to do some damage," he said at last. It was a safe thing to say, since he always wanted to do some damage. "So I guess I thought it would be best if I wasn't around the rest of you."

"Well, thank you for _that_ , at least," said Ellie.

"And Bentley was an idiot."

"Good thing you were there, then." Ellie sighed. "But her mission masked the symptoms, John, gave you an illusion of control that would have killed you before too much longer."

"That suitcase nuke would've done the job real quick."

"True, but even without it you were still failing. The first thing I smelled coming into the base was that cigar, and the glass of wine you forgot about."

"I was relaxing!"

"John Casey relaxes by shooting things, and blowing stuff up."

 _Got me there._ He smiled.

"You've been running on constant adrenaline and random, undirected bursts of hostility, all week long, and your body was running out. That poison would have kept driving you on until eventually a bullet would have jammed in your barrel at full auto."

He looked at her funny. "A military metaphor, Ellie? Really?"

"I stole it from Diane–the General. She's been getting more and more worried about all of you. She gets…colorful, when that happens." Ellie leaned in close, and asked quietly, "Is it bad? It sounded bad."

He nodded. "Messy. Usually fatal." He braced himself. "When?"

"Well, eventually, the kind of life you lead," said Ellie unhappily. "But not from the toxin. That ether mask was delivering the antidote while you slept. You should be over the worst of it now."

He flexed his hands, pulling. "So why am I still tied down?"

She started undoing the straps. "I wanted to see how long it would be before you'd start to fight."

* * *

A few minutes later, in the briefing room…

"How do you feel, Colonel?" asked the General first thing.

Casey aimed himself right and fell into a chair. Ellie sat next to him, just in case. "Like roadkill, General. But Doctor tells me I'll live."

"Good. While you were recovering, Agent Miller, with some help from Sarah's friend Hannah, has identified the other players in this game. Agent Miller?"

Three faces popped up on the monitor. "These men work for Alexei Volkoff," said Carina, "Primarily as assassins. Three guesses who their target was this time."

"So Frost killed them?"

"I'd like to say yes, but…"

"But?"

A not-very-clear still image of the old man on the balcony displaced the dead killers. "But the man who killed Agent Rye and kidnapped Chuck has been identified as Aldebert De Smet, aka, the Belgian," said Beckman. "A ruthless information merchant, he always kills his victims."

"General!" scolded Carina.

"What?" said Beckman crossly, until she noticed the tilt of Carina's head. "Oh. I'm sorry, Ellie. I forgot. Feel free to go back to your lab if this distresses you."

Ellie clenched her hands together under the table. "No, thank you, General."

Beckman nodded. "Let's continue then. Agent Miller?"

"Hannah's most likely scenario is that the assassins made a deal with De Smet," said Carina, not looking at Ellie. "Frost could have killed them to protect Chuck, or to punish their disobedience. Or both."

 _Why shoot at one target when you can hit two?_ "What would an information merchant want with Chuck?" asked Casey.

"The lip-reading analysis indicates that he knows Chuck is the Intersect."

Carina handed him a transcript of Sarah's short conversation with Frost.

"Aw, hell," he said after a quick read. "Guess we didn't get all those Ring goons after all."

"Apparently not. Sporadic returns from Chuck's implant indicate that he's being moved to Southeast Asia."

Jungles, warlords, and cheap mercs. The idea made him tired, but duty called. "When do we move out, General?"

"We don't, Colonel. You especially will not be fit for action for some time. Besides, this is a job for the diplomatic corps," said Beckman. "Sarah's rush to Volkoff has tied our hands."

"A delay of any kind will just prove Frost right," said Carina.

"Any sudden movement could play right into her hands and cause an international incident, the kind of environment where Volkoff thrives." Beckman shook her head. "Sarah's on her own. The most support we can offer her is to say nothing at all."

"What?" shouted Ellie and Carina at the same time.

"She's right," said Casey, his thinking more international in scope. "This isn't about the Intersect, this is about Chuck. Since he doesn't have either the skills or the data at this time, the threat level is minimal, and won't justify any action on anyone's part. Anyone we tell will see _Sarah_ as the threat, and respond accordingly."

Beckman nodded. "We can't even warn them, try to minimize the damage."

"Warn who?" asked Ellie.

"Asia."

* * *

Somewhere over Asia…

Sarah Lisa Bartowski awoke. The plane she was in had changed its sound, slowing at the end of its journey and the beginning of hers. One hand reached for her gun as the other threw off the light blanket she hadn't asked for. In the other seat, Frost sat looking at her as if she hadn't moved all night. Only the glass of juice was new.

"Thank you," said Sarah, a little late."Thanks for helping me."

"Who says I'm helping you?" asked Frost. "There's really only one safe way to deal with Alexei Volkoff."

"What's that?" asked the person going in to deal with Alexei Volkoff. A glass of juice appeared at her elbow.

"Carpet bombing."

That explained Pichushkin. Sarah sipped her breakfast. "Maybe after I'm done with him."

A brow went up. "After _you're_ done with _him_? Unlikely. After he's done with you? Even less likely. He'll enjoy you." Frost took a drink as well.

Lips bared in a non-smile. "No one but Chuck will ever _enjoy_ me." No one but Chuck ever had.

Frost toasted the determination. "That's exactly what I mean. Alexei delights in corruption."

"I've been down that path." She washed the taste of it out of her mouth.

"And Chuck pulled you off of it, I know." Frost finished her juice. "But now Chuck is gone, and you need Alexei to get him back, and believe me, Alexei knows that as well. There are no safe choices for you here, but I will give you a word of advice."

"Which is?" Sarah put her glass down, leaving the dregs where they belonged.

"Be very polite, and very, very careful."

* * *

Alexei Volkoff touched the brush to the canvas delicately. Interesting stuff, painting. Not just colors, but the direction of the strokes, the depth, the layering. He only hoped he could make the rest of the dog's face as captivating as his nose.

The doors to his sanctum couldn't fly, they were far too heavy for that, but they could _crash_ open, under the right stimulus. His outer guard appeared to be the right man for the job.

A beautiful blonde stepped in and over the fallen man. "I told him I'd get it myself," said Sarah.

Volkoff put down his palette and brush. "Mrs. Agent Charles, what a delightful surprise. Please, sit." He looked around for a cloth to get the paint off his hands.

"No thanks," said Sarah. "I don't intend to be breathing the same air as you for very long."

The cloth dropped to the floor. "You can catch more flies with honey, Mrs. Agent Charles," he cautioned, coming around in front of his desk. He nodded to Frost, standing back by the door. "I'm sure my darling Frost gave you some sort of counsel to that effect. You should take it."

"She did. She gave me lots of advice, for dealing with you."

He looked past her to Frost, and then back again. "Of what sort?"

Mrs. Agent Charles shrugged. "Something about carpet-bombing."

He chuckled. "I see your dilemma."

She sighed. "I decided to be polite."

"In that case, Mrs. Charles, I will decide to be…" He leaned back against his desk. Tones of Gregory Tuttle shaded his voice. "Sympathetic. I have a very–" he placed a fist over his heart "–romantic nature. I feel your pain, truly I do." But Tuttle was a mask, while Volkoff was all too real. "And soon, I assure you, you will feel mine."

* * *

Charles Irving Bartowski awoke. The world slid into place around him as if it had always been there, even though he couldn't remember any of it. He lay flat on his back on something that may have been a mattress five thousand years ago, staring up at one, two, no, just one naked bulb dangling from the ceiling. He went to shade his eyes, only to find his hands were fastened down snugly with much more modern leather straps. He raised his head to look down the length of him, so many straps!

Suddenly the light was blocked by a short skinny man in a set of scrubs and a mask, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Mwa-ha-ha," he said, before pushing Chuck's head down and fixing it there with another strap.

Something was wrong with Chuck's senses, the man seemed a bit…blurry, his voice rang with echoes.

"What do you want?" asked Chuck weakly. His voice didn't echo.

The man grasped his chin firmly. "I need to know the secret of your success with women, Agent Charles."

"But…I'm not–" _an agent_ "–successful…"

"Heh, are you sure about that?" said the doctor. He reached down and lifted up a kitten, clutching a ball of yarn in its paws. "This will tell me what I want to know."

"No," said Chuck, struggling against the straps, "Not the cute kitten!"

"Ha!" shouted a female voice, and the sinister doctor went down with a kick to the head.

"Sarah?"

She pressed herself up against the door as it shook. "Agent Charles, you have to get up! I can't hold them off alone!"

"Get me out of this," said Chuck, wiggling his hands.

"You're an agent, free yourself," said Sarah. "And hurry! I need you, Agent Charles."

"But Sarah–!"

"Hurry, Agent Charles!"

"–I can't!"

The door behind Sarah opened the other way, and several arms reached out of the darkness, wrapped themselves around her, and pulled her into the shadows. The door slammed shut.

"Sarah!" Chuck flung himself off the bed and raced to the door, but when he opened it there was only more wall.

"Too little, too late, Chuck," said someone behind him. "Some doors open both ways, gotta watch out for those."

Chuck turned.

On the mattress lay Charles Irving Bartowski, still strapped and cuffed. "You don't mind if I call you Chuck, do you?"

That was his name. "But if I'm Chuck, then who are you?"

"Ask me rather, who I was."

"Who were you, then?"

"In life I was your partner, Charles Carmichael."

Carmichael! An agent! Chuck pounced. "I have to get you out of here," he said, undoing the straps. "I need you! She needs you!"

He lifted up Carmichael's arm, but it snapped off, crumbling to powder in his grasp.

"You don't need me," said Carmichael, his body flattening inside the clothes it wore. "You've never needed me."

A strong wind blew through the room, whipping up the grains of sand, forcing Chuck to shut his eyes. The wind moaned– _toolittletoolatetoolittletoolate–_ and the shadows flickered as the bare bulb spun.

"What's happening?" yelled Chuck, and the light went out.

* * *

"What is happening?" asked Aldebert De Smet, as the machines started buzzing with activity. "Is it working?"

"It's working," said the man in the lab coat, Dr. Mueller. "Phase Two has begun. His conscious mind is weakening, and as it crumbles, the other mind he carries within him will be revealed. When it is fully exposed my machines will capture it, harness its power."

The Belgian watched Chuck twitch and moan in his chair. "He does not look powerful," said De Smet. "He looks like what he is, a neurotic little man."

"The Ring in America discovered differently, when they first captured him and extracted his inner self. But they lacked vision. They did not know what they had, and it destroyed them."

De Smet rolled his eyes. "You need not tell me again how brilliant you are."

"No, I don't," agreed Mueller, studying his readouts. "I just need to remind you of how much money you will be able to make for us, once my machines have–" his voice trailed off, distracted by the numbers "–done their work."

"And how long will it take for your machines to do their work?" asked the Belgian. "Even in this jungle we cannot stay hidden forever."

"And whose decision was that?" said Mueller, annoyed. "Do not fear. His mind cannot withstand my drugs and devices for long **."**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N** I really loved doing an aggressive Ellie. Based on the comments I got so did all of you.

* * *

Two days ago…

Vivian Volkoff stood outside her father's office door for the very first time.

 _Supercalifragilisticexpialadoscious._

It didn't help.

* * *

Today…

The room was too small for pacing. The phone was too small for proper dialing. Ellie hadn't gotten to where she was by letting little things like that stop her. "Devon, they've got Chuck."

"Who's got Chuck, babe?"

His warm baritone ran right over the dry earth of her soul and didn't soak in very much at all. "You know I can't tell you that," said Ellie, yet another annoyance on top of this whole bad situation. "A bad guy with a code name and a very bad reputation, and no one here is going to do anything to save him."

"Whoa, why not?" asked Devon, correctly interpreting that last 'him' to mean Chuck, and not some bad man with a bad reputation.

"Because they let Sarah out of here when I told them not to, and she's gone and done something incredibly stupid and dangerous. They're talking 'international incident'-level dangerous."

"Sounds like Sarah," said Devon. "Just like you, only with the experience and the contacts to make it happen. So what are you going to do?"

She stopped her frantic back-and-forth. "What do you mean, 'what am I going to do'? What do you think I _can_ do?"

"I _think_ ," said Devon, "That you can call your husband, in search of some measure of solace and comfort. If that doesn't work, I _think_ you'll be after his support and understanding as you go off into some undisclosed war zone to rescue your brother."

"You think so?"

"I know so, I can't love you as much as I do and not know that." She could hear him smile. "Go get him, El."

That barrier fell, and the force of her determination exploded in that direction. "I love you."

* * *

" _I love you."_

Casey stood outside the door, listening to the half of the conversation available to him. Devon was a born doctor, with an endless ability to suck up other people's pain while keeping a smile on his face. Ellie would need that.

She had to talk to somebody, and Ellie had never been much for talking to him. The General had done a great job over the years, but writing off Chuck the way she did pretty much set her relationship with Ellie back to square one there. Or maybe not, Ellie might be more forgiving that he ever would be.

"We've got a hit!"

Stepping very lightly for someone his size, Casey went over to the door to the main room and scowled fiercely at Carina. "Keep it down, will ya? Ellie's falling apart in there."

Carina frowned at him. "Beckman's right, you really aren't fit for duty, are you? Since when did you get so sensitive to lady feelings?"

"Since I met a genuine lady," said Casey, closing the door behind him as he came into the room.

"What do we got?"

Carina put up the coordinates on the screen. An image of globe spun, the spot highlighted. She overlay it with a political map. "Northern Thailand, near the Burmese border."

The satellite showed green. "Trees and more trees," muttered Casey. "A river. That could be our way in." _If we can_ go _in._ He hit the button to contact the General. The screen showed her in conference. Great.

A minute or two later the screen cleared. "What is it, Colonel?"

"We've got a location on Bartowski, General. Northern Thailand."

"I was afraid of that. There's an aide for that region's affairs, a Mr. Chanarong, but I haven't been able to contact him all day."

Carina made a rude noise.

Casey grunted. The main goal of a diplomat was not to solve problems. If they solved problems there'd be no need for diplomats. Instead they spent their time _handling_ problems that just never seemed to go away. And that was assuming he was a good one. If not–"Probably bought and paid for by the Belgian, and half a dozen other warlords in the area. He'd stall our diplomatic efforts until it's too late."

Beckman nodded. She'd been around that block all too often. "Quite likely, Colonel, but without proof, there's nothing we can do. Even if we had it, getting a suitable replacement would take time." Time Chuck didn't have. She glanced to one side, multi-tasking. "I've arranged a return flight for Ellie. Colonel, your job is to make sure she's on it."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that."

Casey ignored her, just like he ignored the buzz of his phone as travel instructions arrived. "Begging the General's pardon, but a solo invasion of Afghanistan would have greater odds of success."

"Understood, but you're a Marine, while she's an untrained civilian. I expect you'll just have to make do." A touch of sadness leaked into her voice. "If things go south, she'll need to be around family."

"Want to borrow my tranq gun, Casey?"

The door behind them slammed open. Ellie stood there, dressed in travelling clothes, a large bag slung over her shoulder. Her gaze swept the room, taking in all the conspirators. "I'm doing this under protest, General."

"As long as you do it, Ellie," said Beckman. "It's for your own good."

"That's what Devon said."

"You should listen to your husband, Ellie. Colonel?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Casey, glad it was under her orders. He opened the door for her. "Let's go, Ellie." With a final glare at the screen, Ellie turned and walked out the door, and Casey closed it behind them.

Carina let out an exaggerated breath.

Beckman shifted her attention. "Agent Miller, while Colonel Casey is otherwise occupied, you'll have to undertake planning for a rescue mission, if there should happen to be one."

Carina paled. Any mistakes, anything that happened to Chuck _at all_ , and Sarah would blame her. Again. "Can I take Afghanistan?"

Beckman's image winked out.

* * *

Kissing.

His wife, in his bed, in his arms. "I love you."

She rolled up on top and straddled him, smiling. "I love you, too, Agent Charles."

 _Huh?_ "But…I'm not Agent Charles, you are."

Her smile faded. "I've told you not to do that, Agent Charles. Hearing you talk like your cover in our bed is just too creepy."

 _His cover?_ "No!" he said, gesturing to his own chest. "This is me, your Chuck."

She scowled down at him. "I didn't marry Chuck, I married Agent Charles." She got off of him, out of the bed, and rolled him over. Her fingers ran up and down his spine, under his hair. "Where is it?" She rolled him back over, stared into his eyes. "What have you done with my husband?"

"I _am_ your husband."

She backed away from the bed, an expression of growing horror on her face. She turned and opened the closet door. Hanging inside was his tuxedo, the hood hanging down. She gripped the hood by the hair and lifted it up. Under the mop of curly hair was his face, blank and empty. She turned the suit around, and saw the zipper running up the length of its spine, the slider buried under the hair.

She turned to glare at him, furious. "You lied to me!" She grabbed the hanger and threw the Agent Charles suit onto the bed next to the nerd she'd married.

"I never lied to you," said Chuck. "I've never been an agent, I've always been Chuck."

The door opened behind her, and his wife drifted backwards through to the other side. "That's too bad, _Chuck._ We could have had such wonderful missions together."

The door closed with a boom, and his wife was gone. Chuck leapt from his bed and opened it. The hall was long and empty and his wife was already far away. With every step he took toward her, the farther away she got.

"Sarah!"

She opened another door at the far end. "Hello, Alexei. My name is Sarah." In spite of the incredible distance between them, Chuck could hear every word.

A man's hand reached out from the darkness and took hers, leading her away, into the darkness with him. "Hello Sarah. Welcome to Volkoff Industries."

The door slammed shut behind her with the sound of doom. The hallway shrank and Chuck pulled at the knob, but there was only more wall on the other side.

" _Too little, too late, Chuck."_

He turned, but the only door in the hall was this one. He grabbed the knob and pulled again, opening the door onto his bedroom. The Agent Charles suit lay on the bed. "What are you?"

The eyes opened. The suit looked at him. "Who, me? I've been hanging in your closet for years. Come on in, Chuck."

The door moved around him and suddenly he was inside. The door slammed shut behind him with the sound of doom, and everything went black.

* * *

In Castle…

Carina sat at the table, as she had since everyone had left. She'd only managed to get one set of redundancy plans for her redundancy plans, and that was just for the six most likely contingencies on her logic tree. Winging it was _so_ much easier. You just grabbed a poisonous snake and threw it.

Oh, God. Poisonous snakes! She pulled out another index card and started writing.

Beckman's image winked in. "Agent Miller."

"Whaaa!" shrieked Carina, papers flying everywhere as she exploded, tension releasing in every direction at once. A tranq dart bounced off the screen.

"Good shooting," said Beckman.

"Thank you, General," said Carina, rubbing her bottom where it had impacted the floor. Whoever thought putting wheels on chairs was a good idea?

"How's the planning coming?"

Loose index cards cascaded on her head. "Poisonous snakes, ma'am." She scooped them all up and stood, dropping them all on the table.

"Using them or avoiding them?"

Carina bent down for another batch. "Either. Both."

"Very thorough." Beckman sniffed. "I take it that Colonel Casey hasn't come back yet?"

One doesn't say 'duh' to Generals. "No, ma'am." She checked a screen, noticed the time. "Wait a minute…"

"Exactly. Go and do a sweep. He could have driven her back here by _this_ time."

Carina hit the boards, checking the internal screens first. "What is that?"

"What is what?" asked Beckman peevishly.

Something moved in one of the cells, and they didn't have any prisoners right now, not even unofficially. Rather than spend time bringing up the cell monitor, Carina swooped the window over to the main screen so Beckman could watch as she left the room and walked down the security corridor. Unfortunately this meant she also couldn't stand right outside the door to cell three and gloat for a few precious minutes. Beckman was watching, so she hit the door control right away, pushing down the block before she stepped inside herself. A few seconds later she came out again, stabilizing Casey as they walked slowly back to the main screen.

"What happened, Colonel?" asked Beckman the second they entered the room. "How did you end up in a cell?"

"I have no idea, General," said Casey. "The last thing I remember is Ellie saying 'I insist'."

Carina dumped him in a chair. "About what?"

Casey set his elbows on the table, braced his head in his hands. "She said she knew where she needed to be, and she could get there by herself, I should stay here and rest. I said I had orders to get her on her way."

Carina snickered. "Let me guess, she was walking behind you? And you trusted her because she's such a lady." She jabbed a thumb against his neck.

He slapped her hand away. "Yeah." He looked up at the screen. "I apologize, General. I have no excuse."

"Don't be silly, Colonel, you have plenty of excuse. You're recuperating from being poisoned. You trusted your doctor, and I agree with you she's every inch a lady, but those two qualities make her more dangerous, not less. Agent Miller, looks like you'd better put on some coffee."

 _Oh, no_. Playing nursemaid is for playing, not for nursing. "Let me get him an epi-pen from Medical, General. Chuck and Sarah used one on me the last time I was tranqed. I can't say it's pleasant, but it is effective."

"Good idea, Agent Miller. Do it. We need Casey in as top a form as he can muster."

 _Now_ Casey began to get suspicious. "Why is that, General?"

"Ellie's plane is not where it's supposed to be."

* * *

In the Belgian's compound in Thailand…

Dr. Mueller growled, annoyed and exasperated. He turned from his readouts to Chuck himself, and his machines.

"What is happening now?" said De Smet. "Have you finally managed to succeed."

"Something is wrong," said Mueller. "He is reacting as he should right up to the end, but every time he's ready to take that last step something shuts him down. Something is blocking me."

"If I lose my investment you will lose considerably more than that, Doctor, and frankly, you are boring me. Try harder."

"I am stimulating his hippocampus as much as I dare. If he becomes aware that he is dreaming it is all over."

"Then he must not become aware, Doctor."

"Phase Three?" said Mueller. "Lobotomize him? That is very risky. We could lose the baby with the bathwater."

"Can you do it?"

The guards worked for De Smet, not himself. There was only one answer Mueller could give, and survive. "Yes, I can do it."

"Fine," said the Belgian. "Do it."

* * *

Carina came back quickly. "I found the pen, General. I also found this." She held up an envelope.

"Is it sealed?"

Carina handed the pen to Casey, and flipped the envelope over. "Yes."

"Don't open it."

"Wasn't planning to."

"Good." The General gave the matter some thought as Casey jabbed himself in the leg. "Put it in the safe, hopefully we won't need it."

"What is it?"

"It's plausible deniability, Agent Miller."

"Oh, crap," said Casey. "She's on her way to Thailand, isn't she?"

"It would appear so, Colonel. They're maintaining radio silence but they had to refuel, and we're tracking them now. Agent Miller, get your notes together, you'll be needing them. I'm arranging transportation now. She has a head start, but you'll be faster."

Faster and dirtier, just the way she liked it. "We're going after Chuck?"

"Of course not, our hands are still tied on that front," said Beckman. "But we have either an asset on the ground in need of extraction, or a private citizen in possession of top secret materials in a war zone. Either way you two have to get to Ellie as soon as may be."

* * *

Somewhere in Thailand…

The crowd cheered. Money changed hands and liquor flowed. The big man in the big chair watched from on high as minions scurried and profit was made, unaware of the danger he was in.

The blonde bitch in the pit was giving his customers the best show they'd seen in months, and all for nothing. He'd have gladly revealed the Belgian's location just to get rid of him, but the blonde hadn't even tried to bargain. She must really want this man back. Or she just wanted to kill someone.

Or both.

* * *

Sarah hit, and hit again, the cords on her fingers taking the pain for her. Her opponent went down under her fists, and some ancient notion of fair play held her back from finishing him for a crucial second. He came up, tossing a handful of sand in her face.

"Ah!" she yelled, blinded, and he kicked her away. He stood as she fell, and one of the big man's minions tossed him a knife.

Sarah flailed about desperately, expecting to die. She would die and Chuck would die. Somewhere on her left she heard the sound of death approaching, as her enemy slashed the air with his knife. She rolled away from the sound, her hand coming down on something cold and alive. She grabbed the snake and threw it.

Frost watched as Sarah distracted the other fighter, still unable to see. Well if they could cheat, she could cheat. "Sarah," she called, and her son's wife came to the sound of her voice. She turned to the man next to her. "May I borrow this?" she asked, indicating his canteen.

"Why, certainly," he said, handing it over.

"Thank you very much," she replied with a smile. Unscrewing the cap, she splashed water in Sarah's face, clearing her eyes. "Finish him," she said as Sarah blinked. "I'd hate to have to kill all these nice people but we've wasted enough time on this foolishness."

* * *

Doctor Eleanor Faye Bartowski-Woodcombe walked into the first bar she saw. Somewhere during her flight she'd lost the make-up, and ditched her civilian gear. She was everything her mother had ever forced her to be, and she looked it. "I need a boat. Who do I talk to?"

Fortunately this bar wasn't full of mercenaries. Those were upriver, waiting for the next little war to break out. "You can talk to me," said a man at the bar, not bothering to look at her.

No one was foolish enough to get in her way. "I need to get upriver, and I need to get there now."

The boatman glanced up, his lecherous gaze taking in everything Ellie had dressed to hide. "Sit down," he said. "Have a drink."

Ellie wouldn't use that stuff to sterilize a wound. "I'm sorry," she said calmly, "But what part of 'now' did you miss?"

"Now that's just rude," said the boatman. "Upriver, now, and rude, that's gonna cost you." He put his hand on hers. "Let's talk price."

"Yes, let's," said Ellie, sitting down next to him. She brought her face in close to his, their lips almost touching before she slammed the syringe in her other hand against his thigh. "Shhh, shhh," she whispered against his mouth, before he could cry out. She whispered in his ear, "Your heart is racing, you can't catch your breath." She breathed a laugh into his ear. "I recognize the symptoms. The antidote is my price. Do you understand me?"

He nodded, unable to catch his breath.

"Good." She pulled her hand out his grasp. "Your hands are shaking, that's how it begins…"


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N** I really like Tough Broad Ellie. I like dream sequences too.

* * *

Yesterday…

"I'm sorry, Vivian, darling," said Alexei Volkoff, "But a unique business opportunity has just presented itself, which will require my full attention. Can I have a rain check on our lunch date?"

Vivian bit her lip, glad her father couldn't see her. _Not even one full day._ Was even one day of her father's time too much to hope for?

"Of course, Father."

"I will make it up to you, I promise," said Volkoff, "But for now I'll have to deputize Mr. Riley to squire you around town."

Vivian settled down. Her father was a very important, very busy man, but she was his only daughter, his only child. There would be other days.

* * *

Today, somewhere in Thailand…

Sarah looked at her hands, her fingers, striped with red. Hands wrapped in rope, battering rams, rather than the precision instruments she'd made of them. Another time or place, that might have been a problem.

They'd taught her to fight in a lot of different ways, back in her previous life, with hands and feet and whatever was around. He should have expected the snake. She should have expected the sand.

She shouldn't have given him the chance to throw the sand. What the hell was wrong with her? That was no way to get her husband back.

Frost poured peroxide over Sarah's raw fingers. The cords made it possible for the wearer to strike harder, but they delivered their punishments in both directions. "You didn't have to do that."

 _They were in the way._ Sarah stared at the blood on her hands. "I told him to drop the knife." So much blood. "He didn't listen, and neither did you. I'm different without Chuck, and I don't like it."

* * *

Somewhere else in Thailand, on a river…

Casey checked his tracker. "According to this she's ten meters ahead of us."

"That puts her in the river," said Carina.

"The miracles of modern technology." He put the tracker away. "Ellie?"

Up ahead on the river's edge, some leaves moved. A small flame, like a lighter, flicked twice. Facing that way they could see it, but no one on the other side of the river would notice such a small light.

They crept down the road, two little shadows against a larger backdrop of shadow, with a touch of midnight thrown in. "What do we got?" whispered Casey.

"It's a boat," said Carina as softly.

With nothing more than a whisper of leaves against leaves the two shadows left the dark. Once under cover they used their low-intensity lights.

"I was wondering when you two would show up," said Ellie, sitting in the captain's chair.

* * *

The sun was shining. The birds were chirping.

Chuck opened his eyes, took a cautious look around. He sat in a chair, surrounded by blinking and beeping equipment of all sorts. No scientists, no lab techs. No guards.

He stepped out of the chair, adjusting the fit of his tuxedo for maximum elegance, and went to the window. It opened onto jungle, as expected. This heat and humidity could mean nothing else.

Now he saw guards, but they were walking away from his position. Perfect. He stepped through the window and quickly strode into the jungle. He was almost in the clear when his phone went off. Ellie's ringtone. "Hey, sis, guess where I am."

"At a guess, I'd have to say jungle. Tropical rainforest, maybe, it's not like we don't have you tracked," said Ellie impatiently. "Agent Charles, I just got off the phone with Sarah, she's very upset."

He stopped in a stand of bamboo. "Doesn't it bother you that I've been kidnapped and could be tortured at any moment?"

Ellie didn't sound all that interested. "Look, Agent Charles, just because you and Sarah are having marital difficulties is no reason to keep getting yourself captured all the time."

"We're…we're not having marital difficulties."

"Oh, no? What do you call this 'Chuck' nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense, it's _me_ , sis."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about," said Ellie. "Calling you Chuck is like calling a Lamborghini a car. She married a hero, Agent Charles. You have to be one for her."

"But–"

"Hold on, let me put Sarah on the phone."

* * *

Somewhere on a road in Thailand…

Frost handed Sarah a semi-clean cloth as they drove through the night. "I don't know if it helps, but you managed to save one life at least."

Sarah started rubbing at her wounds. _How could she tell?_ "Whose?"

"Anand Chanarong, the Belgian's paid protector here. Once my men showed him the coordinates you'd gotten, he stopped being so resistant."

 _Probably just hoping for a quick finish_. "How did that save his life?"

"Well, it wouldn't have, not by itself, but I convinced Alexei that knowing someone we could buy, who would stay bought, was worth a little forbearance. Chanarong will wake up tomorrow in a hospital, after a terrible car accident he won't remember. It'll only take a few more injuries to make him look the part."

Sarah started digging through the box for anything that looked like it might be a disinfectant. "Beckman will blow right past him, and she'll have the coordinates too."

"All true," said Frost. "But she'll still need diplomatic permission. The Belgian will be expecting Chanaraong to keep him informed, so he'll be waiting for that while we do what we came here to do."

"Save Chuck," said Sarah. "Take him home."

Frost slammed the med-kit shut, narrowly missing Sarah's fingers. "Send him home," she corrected. "You made a deal."

* * *

Elsewhere, on a river…

"You expected us?" said Carina. "You even had Beckman scrambling."

"Good," said Ellie. "Then no one will doubt that this all caught her by surprise."

Casey grunted a denial. "Except for the orders, putting the plane and pilot under your command."

"Blame Dad for those, you will anyway," said Ellie. "And this time you'll even be right."

That got her a chuckle from Carina. "Did he arrange the boat, too? Looks a bit low-tech for him."

Ellie shook her head. "I made a friend in a bar. He got me upriver, and I poled with the current after that until we were secure here."

Casey checked all points. "Where is this… _friend_ now?"

"You're standing on him," said Ellie, casually.

They looked down, spotting the outline of the hatch easily, even in the dark. "Not much of a smuggler's hold," said Carina.

Casey opened it, played the light over the man inside. "Not much of a smuggler." He noted the mask on the man's face. "You gave him the toxin?"

"A low-dose injection," said Ellie, nodding. "Enough that he wouldn't give me too much of an argument. I promised him the antidote when we got here."

"I'm surprised he didn't kill you," said Carina, noticing the extensive scarring all over his body. "Or worse."

"I may have forgotten to mention the chloroform."

Casey gave an appreciative chuckle, and lowered the hatch. "You seem to have the situation under control," he said with some degree of pride. "So what now? We're tasked with bringing you out safely."

Ellie looked him in the eye. "I'm not leaving without him."

Casey grunted his assent.

"And neither are we," said Carina. "I've even got a plan for this."

A lot of water, a bunch of guys, and Carina. _Gee, let me think…_ "I know just what to call it," said Casey. "Operation Wet T-Shirt."

Carina whacked him on the arm. "Wear my new T-shirt into that water? Are you nuts?"

Ellie tried to forget the visual that inspired. "I guess we're all lucky, then, that you got here just a few minutes too late," said Ellie, reaching down. "I'm already on a log, paddling myself across the river." She even had the oars, right there in her hand.

"Where?" said Casey.

Ellie pointed at the scummy water. "Right there, don't you see me? Perhaps if you got out these oars and paddled silently across the river yourselves, you could cut me off before I blunder into that camp of armed guards and get myself in trouble."

"You're very impatient," said Casey, shaking his head.

"I know," said Ellie sadly.

"Come on, partner," said Carina, taking an oar. _No skinny-dipping tonight._ "Let's go save her from herself."

* * *

Meanwhile, in Chuck's mind…

"Agent Charles," said Sarah, and Chuck turned around. "You have nothing to be modest about," she said, stepping through the undergrowth in her wedding dress. She practically glowed in the sunlight. "You _are_ that guy, Agent Charles, even Ellie has to say so. The one who has to apologize is me. I want to keep you safe, when putting your safety over that of others is exactly the opposite of who you are. So thank you, for not being what I want you to be."

His angel. So bright, so beautiful. He could barely stand to look at her. "But I don't want to be Charles Carmichael."

"Soon you will be no one else, Chuck," said a heavily-accented voice behind him. Chuck turned, to see a tall, ugly man in a lab coat standing behind him. "If you will not listen to her then listen to me."

Chuck looked quickly, but Sarah was gone.

"My name is Dr. Mueller, Chuck," said the tall man. "I am a fairly standard evil scientist, just like all the others who have plagued your life these last few years trying to steal the Intersect. I and my colleagues have foolishly discussed our plans right in front of you, thinking you unconscious, so now you are becoming aware of what we plan to do. I almost feel sorry for you, Chuck. If you don't become Charles Carmichael you will die. If you do become Charles Carmichael we will win."

* * *

Meanwhile, outside of Chuck's mind…

Suddenly the man in the chair moved his head. Mueller immediately checked his measurements.

"No…don't want to be…" mumbled Chuck.

"Anything?" asked De Smet.

"No," said Mueller, disappointed. "I am at my absolute limit, but still he somehow finds a way to resist me." He wheeled his chair over to a bank of switches covered with red caps, and lifted the caps. "Initiating phase three now."

Strangely, the beginning of the process that would end his life seemed to calm their victim. De Smet watched Chuck curiously. While he'd killed every victim he'd ever had, he'd done so quickly, painlessly. He'd never had a chance to watch a life go so slowly before. He would repay Mueller with a quick death, for this unique opportunity. "What do you think it feels like, to watch your life disappear?"

"It would feel like nothing," said Mueller. "As his mind goes, he loses his ability to comprehend that his mind is going." He pointed at the screens, the spreading regions of color. "You see there–?"

The Belgian sighed. Somebody should be aware that their life was ebbing, and maybe that someone should be Mueller after all.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Chuck's mind…

 _Earthquake!_ The jungle floor rocked, and Chuck fell to his knees on the hard tile. Pain shot up his leg This was a really painful dream.

"It's not a dream, Chuck," said a voice to his left. He looked up. Jeff's oversized face loomed over him from one of the large monitors, the kind with the really big commission. "Me being on TV, that's a dream, but for you it's all real."

The Buy More shook, and something crashed behind Chuck. "My cord has improved your voice."

No way that was Sean Connery. He turned around, and no, it wasn't Sean Connery. It was him, lying on the ground, making snarky comments to…him.

"Hey, Chuck, can I get out of here?" asked Jeff.

Chuck-on-the-floor swept Chuck-standing-up's legs, and ran off while the other Chuck was down. _Huh?_

"Let me out!" shout Jeff in panic.

Chuck turned back to the screen. Casey's face glared at him. "What's the matter, Bartowski? Don't you love your country?"

The store shook, something crashed behind him, and Chuck clutched his head in pain.

"You played a good game, Chuck," said Daniel Shaw's voice. Chuck looked up, and saw Shaw, his DIC looped around his neck, staring solemnly down at him. "But now it's time to come in from the cold. You have to save your wife, Chuck."

"Fore!"

Chuck turned, watching as he fought himself. _I have to save Sarah._

"Chuck," said Orion's gentle voice.

Chuck looked up to his father. "Dad?"

"Don't let my mistakes be yours too, son. You have great power." The destruction of the Buy More behind Chuck underscored those words. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Lights went out, the screens went blank.

"Dad!"

The only light came from behind him, and Chuck turned again. "My name is not Charles Carmichael," said Chuck–in-the-bathrobe.

Chuck watched as he advanced on himself, and whispered, "My name is not Charles Carmichael." His hands itched, and he looked down. Light bloomed there. _Great power._

"I am not a CIA Agent," said Chuck–in-the-bathrobe, his light dimming. The other Chuck fell to the floor, his light extinguished.

 _Great responsibility._ "I am a CIA agent," said Chuck.

"Initiate upload!" said Bathrobe-Chuck.

 _No!_ shouted the newly-minted CIA agent in his own head, but he was too late. The monitors were already flickering, Carmichael was already moving. Chuck ran to catch himself.

The monitor on the Nerd Herd desk lit up, with Carina's face. "Fine, be that way. You want the code, I'll give you the damn code. Orange, orange, green, red, orange, red."

The screens flashed, a giant white hole that swallowed up his former self, and Chuck leapt into it after him.

* * *

Someone had been courteous enough to clear a space in the jungle large enough for a helicopter to land. Frost abandoned the truck on the edge of it, pulled out her phone and pressed her thumb on an app. "We have eight minutes."

Sarah was already running.

* * *

Falling. Agent Chuck was falling. Something smacked him in the face, held there by wind. He clawed it away. A pocket protector, with the name Carmichael on it. He looked down. Carmichael was falling, trailing little specks and pieces of himself like ash. "Carmichael!"

Chuck's alter-ego looked up. He held out his hands as they dissolved. "You're too late, Bartowski."

 _It can't be too late!_ "I need you!"

Carmichael shook his head. "You've never needed me. You just need this!" He spread-eagled his body in the air.

 _I need you now._ Releasing the nerdish accessory, Agent Chuck shifted his position, aligned himself with the air streaming past him, and went into a power dive. He arrowed straight into where Carmichael's heart should have been, but there was nothing there. The impact pulverized Carmichael's body, leaving Agent Chuck blinded and tangled in his doppelganger's clothing. He spun in the wind, dragging at the cloth that seemed determined to strangle him before he could crash.

Suddenly the air that had conspired to kill him became his friend, and the cloth that pressed against his face popped out, catching the wind. The remains of Carmichael like hard rain pelted the impromptu parachute, and Agent Chuck looked up, then down as the pocket protector fell past his nose.

Beneath him, the ground bloomed yellow. He aimed for it, as best he could. As good a place as any to be smashed flat.

* * *

Elsewhere, on the other side of the river…

Armed men loitered by the fire, drawn together instinctively for comfort and peace of mind, although any one of them would shoot the first person who suggested it. Even out in the dark they'd been hearing the rumors, terrified whispers of a hugely dangerous, unstoppable force bearing down on them from the west, leaving nothing alive in its wake. A frightened few patrolled the woods, but those were far more silent in their wood craft than the person who came stumbling over tree roots into their encampment. She moved and she was female, that drew all eyes to her like a magnet.

Ellie pulled a much-folded map from her pocket, and pointed to the Quonset hut behind some trees. "Uh, Doctors Without Borders?"

* * *

Out in the jungle…

Argo was a very experienced man, careful, thorough. He never missed a check-in. Until tonight.

Tomas was detailed to check up on Argo. He never reported back either. The man who heard his choking, strangled gurgle ran the other way.

It didn't help.

The Blonde was everywhere.

* * *

Agent Chuck sat up in a field of yellow flowers, not smashed flat. He put his hand down on the pocket protector, and he absently tucked it into the pocket of his Nerd Herd uniform as he looked around. Flowers everywhere. He sniffed at one– _Old Man kata_ –and sneezed at the vile smell. The petals blew off the flower, but somehow curled back against the force of his sneeze to settle on his arm. And stuck.

He tapped at a petal, but it hardened, and trying to peel it back was like trying to peel back his own fingernails.

Another flower moved towards his face, with another rank fragrance– _Naihanchi One–_ and he sneezed again. When the petals came back to him he tried to waft them away, but they clung to his hand in neat little rows, and hardened. Like scales.

Like armor.

"I don't need you," he muttered to himself. "I need this."

One after another he grabbed the flowers and sniffed at them– _Mandarin Chinese, bricklaying, cake decorating, surgery–_ throwing the blossoms in the air to let the petals fall where they would. Two at a time, clumps, handfuls. He gathered up an armful of yellow, inhaled the foul odor and threw the blossoms in the air, standing in a yellow rain.

Finally there were only three petals remaining, but his body– his whole body, he checked–was layered, and they had nowhere to go. Still they twisted in the air expectantly. "What?"

A petal slipped into his mouth, settled on his tongue. The other two moved towards his eyes as if blown, and he jerked his head back, closing his eyes instinctively. For a second he was blinded, but then he could see again. He looked down at himself, but all the petals had gone.

He was just…Chuck.

* * *

"You can come on out, Ellie.'

Ellie got up from her position, crouching behind a tree with her hands over her ears. She'd been expecting the screams, but only after Casey made noise with his guns, and she hadn't heard any noise. She tripped a second time over the same damned tree-root, but this time no one pointed a gun at her. Only one guy from the other team was still there, and he was unconscious. "The Giant Blonde what?" she asked Carina.

"Don't ask me," said the agent, wringing water from her clearly non-blonde hair. "You think I should have lost the pants too?"

"Oh, God," groaned Casey, his eyes carefully fixed away from the river. "Just give her her shirt already."

* * *

With the screaming guards as a distraction out front, Sarah and Frost broke in through the back. The Belgian made a bad investment, taking Sarah's husband. That miscalculation earned him a knife to the throat and cost him everything else.

Frost was a bit more talkative. "Hello, Mueller. I told you not to pursue the Carmichael option."

Sarah ignored them both to run to Chuck's side.

"There's nothing you can do," said Mueller. "He's almost completely gone."

"Now why don't I believe you?" said Frost, before clubbing him down.

"Chuck! Chuck, listen to me, I'm here. I'm here, Chuck." Sarah was busily removing the leads from Mueller's machine, tears in her eyes.

* * *

The ground split open and Agent Chuck fell again, to find himself in his Fortress of Solitude. The monitors were blank, everything was dark. No, not everything. One alert still flashed, one sensor that always worked when nothing else was right.

Sarah was nearby.

He had to open his monitors. Barehanded, he ripped off the panels. He stripped wires with his teeth and recoded the system through three different busses, using protocols that were never meant to communicate with each other.

* * *

Chuck opened his eyes.

* * *

Sarah pulled his face around to look at her, said something she knew he'd want to hear more than anything else. "Chuck, please stay with me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Without you, I'm nobody. I'm nothing but a spy. Come back to me, Chuck. I need to be your wife."

Agent Chuck's hands glowed. Great power. He reached into his panel and pushed that power into the system, trying to do something.

* * *

"Sarah."

"Chuck!" she cried, pressing her lips to his.

* * *

The system overloaded. The Fortress went dark.

* * *

"Chuck?" said Sarah, as he sagged in her arms.

Frost kept her distance, unwilling, or unable, to offer comfort. She looked out the window instead. Touching as this reunion was, they had to get moving. The chopper wouldn't wait for them, and getting Chuck to it looked like a more difficult job than she– _What are_ they _doing here?_

"We have to go," said Frost. "Now!"

"But Chuck–?" Sarah started fumbling with the straps.

"Leave him. Friendly forces are on their way. We can't be seen here."

"But Chuck–!"

Frost aimed her sidearm. "You made a deal," she said. "You will move now or I will kill you right here."

Sarah jumped on Chuck, gave him a quick kiss that he'd never feel, and ran out of the room, Frost hard on her heels.

* * *

Casey stood over the crumpled body of some guy in a lab coat. Carina was checking the dead guy by the window, while Ellie gave her brother the once-over.

"What the hell happened here?"

"Casey!" shouted the two women simultaneously. Carina held up a knife, Ellie held up a ring. "Sarah!"

* * *

Tonight…

To Sarah, the doors seemed to open in slow motion. Frost had three guards on her this time. Now that she had her husband home safe, Sarah was no longer to be trusted.

Volkoff stood up, his multinational criminal empire left to run itself for the moment. "Agent Walker," he said with some surprise. "Love the hair."

Sarah loved it too. It wasn't her usual blonde. It was as far from blonde as it could get, short of shaving her head entirely. Sarah Bartowski was blonde. Sarah Bartowski was married. Until she got back home to Chuck, Sarah Bartowski couldn't be allowed to exist. Alexei Volkoff could not be allowed to touch that.

Volkoff gestured to one side. "I believe you've met my daughter?"

Vivian Volkoff nodded, her eyes flint-hard. "Miss Walker. Welcome to Volkoff Industries."


	37. Pushing Daisies

**A/N** When I first started this series way back when, I never really wanted Chuck to become a spy. He was supposed to be the ordinary guy who succeeded where spies didn't. He was supposed to be the normal guy that made Sarah want to be normal too. I didn't quite get what I wanted, but it's not so bad. In canon he sort of changed on a dime. In this version it had to be thrust upon him. And he isn't really a spy, anyway. What he is, is far beyond a mere 'spy'.

* * *

Casey stood guard. He didn't have to, but he did it anyway.

They'd evacuated Chuck from Thailand the quick and dirty way, taking the boat upriver and leaving the owner to wake up on his own. Mueller wasn't too much of a problem, although they'd hoped for the Belgian. At least they had proof of death, on that front, along with all the portable intel they could gather. The rest burned.

The river took them to the road and the road took them to the border. Once in a more friendly country they got onto a transport that had absolutely nothing to do with them, and off they went, leaving lots of helpful civilians thanking their gods and counting their money.

In Japan the two patients (Ellie's utter exhaustion having finally caught up with her) and their medical team transshipped to a faster and far more comfortable plane. Leaving Carina to direct the corpsman carrying Chuck and Ellie (and God help them if they so much as stubbed a toe under her watchful gaze), Casey went forward to check in.

"Yes, ma'am, We have the Doctor and her patient, although both of them look like patients at the moment."

The General had already consulted with Dr. Dreyfus. "Let them both sleep as much as possible. Did you find…anyone else?"

"Traces of her, ma'am," said Casey. "The scene had been reduced before we got there. The Belgian is dead, and we recovered one of Telescope's knives from the body."

"How do you know it was hers?" Not that Beckman was in any way doubting the description, but it was a detail someone would bring up, if this case ever came to light.

"Because–" The air in the plane must have been pretty dry, Casey's voice caught for a second. "Because we found her ring in the patient's pocket, ma'am."

Sarah only wore one ring. "Oh dear."

"Yes, ma'am." He listened to Beckman think for a few seconds.

"I'll contact Surgeon, and keep him apprised of the situation."

'Surgeon' had to be Devon, but a General, doing her aide's job? "Ma'am?"

"It was _his_ sacrifice that got this whole ball rolling, Colonel, and I am honoring that sacrifice."

No way Ellie would risk herself without Devon's agreement. Fortunately Devon also realized that _rocks_ are afraid of getting between Ellie and a hard place. "Yes, ma'am."

"Get some rest, Colonel," said Beckman. "You'll be in the air a while, and I expect your reports before you land. As long as I have Hannah here, I may as well give her something to do. She's still a bit skittish after her encounter with Volkoff. Helping Sarah in any way might be just the thing. Dismissed."

Casey and Carina drew straws, and Casey won, getting to watch and wait as Ellie and Chuck slept side-by-side, Ellie clutching Chuck's hand like a lifeline. Carina sat somewhere else, brooding over Mueller and what she'd like to do to him. Casey decided to get some shut-eye. Ellie'd worn herself to a shadow, she'd keep. He'd have to relieve Carina before she got bored. They needed the lab geek alive.

It would be a long flight.

* * *

"Miss Walker, do you mind if I ask you a question?" said Vivian.

Sarah looked at Alexei, but he kept his casual pose, leaning against his desk, seeming intrigued by his daughter's move to the center stage. "Feel free," said Sarah.

Vivian _did_ feel free, thank you very much. "Do you really think my father's an idiot?"

Sarah considered the question as she blinked slowly, twice. "I've heard people describe Alexei Volkoff in many ways," she said at last. "That's not one of them."

Alexei smiled.

"Yet here you are," said Vivian. "When father told me you'd come into his orbit I had to see it for myself, but seeing isn't believing. You're no traitor."

"I have a debt to pay."

Vivian snorted, in her lady-like fashion. "You? Indebted to Alexei Volkoff?"

"Agent Charles was captured. CIA couldn't move in time."

Chuck in danger? _No!_ Vivian slapped Sarah, her arm moving before she even noticed. "And _you_ let it happen!" Nothing could get to Mr. Charles without going through her, Vivian knew that much.

Sarah's hand came up to her cheek, stinging and bloody.

Alexei stood up, taking over the room by that one movement. "I think this concludes the interview," said Volkoff. "Frost?"

Frost came forward, and took a look at Sarah's cheek. "You're bleeding. She's got sharp nails, even if she can't cut ropes with them." She took Sarah's arm and pulled gently. "Let's get that taken care of."

"You don't have to," said Sarah, allowing herself to be directed.

"I know," said Frost, making sure the door was shut behind them. "You could have stopped her, but you didn't."

"I know."

"Why not?"

"I deserved it," said Sarah.

"I was there too."

 _So?_ "You're not his wife."

* * *

Carina sat in the back by Chuck, flipping through her various notes. She was pretty sure they'd followed one of her plans, back in Thailand, but if they hadn't she'd better write it up pretty quick. Casey was down front, chatting with the lab geek about war crimes and atrocities, for some reason. Not the sort of thing _she'd_ want to talk about with a helpless prisoner, but it takes all kinds.

Chuck sat up, howling in rage and terror. Ellie sat up, crying out in fear and sudden pain, her fingers trapped in Chuck's clenched hand.

"Whaaa!" shrieked Carina, papers flying everywhere as she exploded, tension releasing in every direction at once. Tranq darts flew, and the yelling stopped. Chuck slumped, but Ellie went back down and pulled her brother over.

Casey sidled up the aisle as papers drifted down, keeping Mueller in sight at all times. He risked a glance at the unconscious pair. "Good shooting."

A stack of index cards cascaded over her head, as Carina scraped her notes back into a pile. She kept her head down. "Thank you."

* * *

Volkoff came to them in the infirmary as Frost was applying the last bit of sealant. "And here I'd hoped you and my daughter could be friends."

Sarah touched her cheek delicately, so as not to disturb any of Frost's ministrations. She wanted no scars, nothing to remind anyone in years to come about this insane adventure. "You're only as good as your last heroic rescue, I guess."

He reached out and touched her chin, moving her head so he could see the damage. "To hear her tell it, you fell off her horse and had to be rescued yourself."

She moved her head sharply, pulling her chin from his fingers. "I was the bait for the trap."

He nodded. "That sounds better on your resume, at least."

"Believe me I'm not applying." Sarah hopped off the table. "I have a debt to pay and a husband to get back to, so let's get on with it."

"You Americans, so abrupt," said Volkoff. "That particular quality will not be a virtue for what we have in mind."

"'We'?" asked Frost. Alexei hadn't discussed anything with her.

"Vivian and I," he clarified. "She had a few…suggestions, and I decided on a plan to implement them."

"Which is?"

"We'll send her to retrieve Yuri for us."

Frost was more than a little familiar with the requirements of that operation. "That's a suicide mission."

Volkoff nodded, grinning. "That was Vivian's part. Chip off the old block, that girl."

"Alexei, a word, in private?" She practically pulled him from the room, setting a ticker on the door to distort their words. "She's going to betray you."

"Who, Vivian?"

"If she's as big a chip as you think, maybe, but I was talking about Agent Walker."

He smiled. "Well, that all depends on what you mean by 'betrayal', doesn't it? I mean, if you expect it, allow for it, _plan_ for it, then not betraying me would be the real betrayal, wouldn't it? You know how much I love bending people to my will."

"I do."

"You're not angry with me, are you, Frost?"

"Not angry, no, but…a chance to provide some input would have been nice," said Frost, ever the good subordinate. "That was _my_ suicide mission, after all."

His face crumpled in remorse. "My deepest apologies," said Alexei, stroking her hair. "Maybe next time."

* * *

"Good afternoon, General."

Beckman scrutinized her image carefully. "Ellie, are you sure you should be up? What happened to your hand?"

Ellie flexed her taped fingers experimentally, not that they'd gotten any better in the last quarter hour. "Chuck did. It's kind of a long story."

"He hurt you?"

"Not exactly. According to Carina he sat up and started screaming while she was working on her report, took her by surprise."

"That's not wise, she has excellent reflexes," said the General. "What was he screaming about?"

"No idea, she tranqed him. And me."

"But you're pregnant."

"I was yelling too, and like you said, she has good reflexes." She hastened to respond to the question on Beckman's face before she could get around to asking it. "Not only did he start howling in my ear while I was sound asleep, but he was holding my hand. Or I was holding _his_ hand. Anyway, between the pain in my finger, the tranq antagonist they stuck into me once they remembered I was pregnant, and my need to go to the bathroom, I got up early."

Beckman nodded slowly. Not the sort of report she was used to receiving. "And how's your brother?"

Ellie sighed. "I can't really say until I get him under the scanner, General. He's alive. His vitals are good, but he's unresponsive."

Beckman looked at her hand. "And the screaming?"

Ellie started fiddling with something outside the camera's range. "I'm sending you a picture, General." She waited until Beckman's expression got more dour than usual. "This is the chair we found him in. You can see all the marks where those…probes were attached. Whatever they did to his mind, it must have been pretty traumatic. His episode may have been just a delayed response."

"I don't like it when my experts use words like 'may', Doctor. Given Chuck's demonstrated abilities, and the uncertainty of his mental state, you're leaving me no choice but to remand him to Dr. Dreyfus' care, for now. He will come to your lab under guard, or your lab can go to him, if your scanner is portable, but he will stay in a secure facility until you can convince Dreyfus that Chuck's in his right mind."

Ellie nodded. It's what she would have recommended for anyone else's brother. "Yes, General. I'll contact Manoosh and let him know, he can start–"

"Your assistant won't be there, Ellie," said Beckman, shaking her head slightly. "Agent Rye's vehicle is CIA property. I was going to have it shipped back here, but I decided to let Manoosh and Sam drive it back, a little reward for services rendered."

Ellie smiled. _Do him some good to get out into the world._ "Let's just hope there are no science fiction conventions along the way." Her eyes widened. "Oh, that reminds me…"

"If you're worried about your father's car, don't be. They've got both vehicles." Beckman's face looked a little grim. "I think they've got a bet, too."

Manoosh loose, racing cross-country in her father's souped-up muscle car? "I thought you didn't want me to worry," said Ellie.

* * *

"Come in."

Frost opened the door. "Getting settled?"

Sarah raised a brow. "I was pre-settled," she said. She gestured at the closet, stuffed with clothing both elegant and warm. "I didn't come here with this many clothes. I didn't come here with _any_ clothes. I feel like I should be standing _in_ the closet." Waiting for a mark.

Funny. "Agent Walker, like it or not, you are a contract employee of Volkoff Industries. We have standards to maintain, very high standards. If you survive, you may consider those clothes part of your fee."

Her fee was Chuck's life. "Is this Yuri that important to you?"

Frost regarded her coolly for a long moment, then said, "Get dressed, Agent Walker. Something warm."

* * *

Two women walked around the grounds of Alexei Volkoff's estate as the snow fell, completely at ease.

"The guards have received pictures of you, of course, so they'll know that you should be accepted in the common areas, for now. They won't challenge you, unless you give them a reason to…"

Sarah crossed her heart. "I am a meek little mouse."

"A meek little mouse that's memorizing their routines," said Frost. "Don't bother, we'll be changing them."

"It's not like I can help it."

"Oh, I know you can't." Frost slowed her steps as they approached a piece of ground that looked like it would be a garden, if the place it was in ever saw a Spring. "My favorite spot."

Sarah looked around, but nothing to recommend the spot to her. "What's so special about it?"

"It's the only place on the grounds not covered by any form of electronic surveillance," said Frost. "Here we can speak without any fear of being overheard."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for that."

"Not if you want to live very long, no," said Frost readily. "There's only one person you can and should trust unconditionally and he's not here. Don't worry, I didn't bring you to this spot to talk, but to listen."

Sarah listened. "Okay."

"I don't know what kind of game Vivian may be playing, of even Alexei, but you must bring the Gobbler back here."

"The what?"

"Yuri. Yuri the Gobbler."

"Okay, now I have to ask–"

"He eats people."

"I don't have to ask. I have to say 'Ew' right now, because this place is free of all electronic surveillance."

"I won't tell," said Frost.

"Thank you. Does he, um…?"

"Not professionally, no," said Frost. She checked her watch, started speaking faster. "He's Volkoff's main bodyguard, and I'm pretty sure he has something to do with Hydra."

"Hydra?"

"Volkoff's computer network, his buyers, sellers. His entire infrastructure. His whole empire is virtual, and only Volkoff and maybe Yuri know where it is."

 _This just keeps getting better._ "Why would Volkoff trust that kind of knowledge with a cannibal?"

"I don't know, but when Yuri went into Seabrook Alexei's communications with his network slowed to a crawl, and since Boris took out his lieutenants they've practically stopped. We and Alexei both need Yuri if we want to find that network. It's more important even than Alexei himself. I was supposed to get him back myself, but your team has kept me preoccupied."

"So that's why you helped Volkoff escape in LA."

Frost looked around. "One of the reasons, yes."

"And what you did to Chuck?" asked Sarah sharply.

Frost looked away. "No time to get into that now. The guards will be coming around again…" She stepped forward, out of the invisible safe zone. "And we have to finish your tour."

Sarah buried her anger, and smoothed her features. Agent Walker followed.

* * *

An ambulance met the plane and loaded Doctor and her patient on board. Casey and Carina took Mueller in to be formally arrested by someone with the legal authority to do so. Once free of that burden it was back to the lab, an empty and echoing place, without its usual occupants.

"Good afternoon, team," said General Beckman from the monitor in Ellie's office, the closest secure communications station. "I trust that everything has proceeded smoothly so far?"

"It has, General," said Casey.

"Neither Ellie nor Chuck is with you at this time, correct?"

Casey and Carina shared a glance. "That's correct, General."

"Good. We have received an urgent an unsettling communication. It's intended recipient is Mr. Bartowski, but under the circumstances I think it's best he never see it."

"Why is that, General?" asked Carina.

"You tell me, Agent Miller," said the General, pressing a button.

The screen lit up with a woman's face. Vivian MacArthur. "Mr. Charles," she said, "I hope you are doing well after your recent captivity. My father would like you to know that he was pleased to be of assistance to Miss Walker's heroic efforts on your behalf. That said, however, I fear I have discovered something truly disturbing."

An ugly picture of an ugly man replaced her calm visage. "This is Yuri Gobrienko, a/k/a Yuri the Gobbler, my father's main bodyguard. He's currently housed in your Seabrook Supermax Penitentiary. Here are some photos of his victims."

Several images replaced Yuri's.

"Yuck," said Carina. "That's not good."

"Impressive," said Casey.

The pictures vanished, and Vivian was back on the screen. "My father plans to break this monster out of prison, and he plans to use Miss Walker to do it."

* * *

Dr. Dreyfus and Ellie were conferring in his office, over his proposed evaluation plan and how she might best contribute to it. An attendant tapped on the door. "Doctor, the new patient is moving."

Leo and Ellie started moving themselves, to a special observation room next to the room where Chuck currently lay restrained, in the high security section.

"How is he moving?" asked Ellie.

"Look at his hands, Doctors," said the attendant.

Chuck's fingers were the only parts of him that so much as twitched. They were lightly, rhythmically, pressing themselves against his leg, one after the other.

"Excellent," said Dreyfus. "He's got some motor function, at least."

"That's not it, Doctor," said Ellie. She turned to the attendant. "Go in there and press your fingers like this–" she demonstrated the motion "–somewhere on his body, where he can feel it."

The attendant glanced at Dr. Dreyfus for his authorization, and Leo gave it. The two doctors watched through the one-way glass as the man entered the other room, walked up to Chuck, and put his hand on Chuck's leg, pressing 1-2-1-2.

Chuck grabbed his arm, and opened his eyes, looking around the room. He looked back up at the man, who stood waiting, not trying to pull away. "Where am I?"

"You're in a secure wing of a CIA Psychiatric Holding Facility," said the attendant.

Chuck released his arm. "Dreyfus again, huh?" He looked at the mirror again, then back at the man. "What's your name and clearance?"

His name was Juan. His clearance was high enough. Now that his patient was lucid and responsive, Juan lifted his clipboard, with its checklist of basic questions. "What's your name?" _Hopefully this one wouldn't say 'Bond'._

The patient rested his head on the thin pillow. "My name is Bartowski. Special Agent Charles Bartowski." Then he smiled. "Call me Chuck."


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N** Violent Sarah doing violent things to violent people.

* * *

Somewhere between where he was and where he was going…

Manoosh wasn't sure which car he liked better. Rye's ride had every gadget the CIA could dream up, and security like nobody's business. Even if they could see the car they couldn't catch it, and even if they caught it they couldn't get him out of it. That sort of protection meant a lot to a guy like him. Or it had once.

Some old guys in suits had given him the opportunity to do something other than cringe and hide. To have girls look at him with something other than contempt or amusement. Even though he'd lost his glasses and his freedom in Dubai, he still had that, the looks in the eyes of those bikini babes up on stage with him.

It wasn't enough, though. They were surprised and amazed, but he wanted, needed more than that. Ellie gave it to him. They had a rocky start at first, sheer terror, but he had skills she valued, and she had drive and intelligence he'd never seen in a woman before. And respect. She knew what he could do and pushed him to do more, even if it was only by making a better lock for the soda machine.

The other car was her car. Scary awesome, just like her. The owner's manual wasn't for the car but for the add-ons. The car got him noticed, but it didn't get respect. He was just a little guy in a big car. More than once he'd seen the old contempt in the eyes of some yahoos and their skirts as they pulled up alongside and played my-car-is-bigger-than-yours games. He played for a while, but then he left that disrespect in the dust behind him, where it belonged. The car was a model of perfection every way.

Except that something kept bumping under the driver's seat.

* * *

Somewhere near DC, a nondescript airport for nondescript purposes…

Ellie wished she had Manoosh with her now. Her assistant loved the scanner, loved tinkering with it, improving it. More important, Manoosh had saved her brother with it. She'd assumed that little line at the bottom of the screen was an artifact, something created by a brain scan that wasn't built by a brain specialist. That non-specialist, her own father, didn't care about the extra line, if he even saw it. That little line was the clue to her brother's unique mind, and Manoosh was the only one able to see it.

" _He called himself what?"_

" _Agent Bartowski, General," said Ellie. Beckman heard a mumbled comment from Leo Dreyfus, and Ellie added, "Excuse me, 'Special Agent'."_

" _Not Agent Charles? Not, God help us, Agent Carmichael?"_

" _Agent Carmichael is gone, General. Manoosh and I proved that conclusively."_

 _Not distrustful but…expectant. "Prove it again."_

She had to get the scanner to the facility first, though, and walk Dr. Dreyfus through the changes she and her assistant had documented. He was reading her papers now, but nothing was better than living color. After his astonishing announcement, no way they were going to let 'Special Agent Charles Bartowski' anywhere near the front door. The scanner was arriving today, with the rest of the lab equipment, but Manoosh and Sam were still on the road.

Once the plane settled, her driver took the van out onto the field, as far as he could go before the cordon of guards stopped them.

"This is a restricted area," said the agent in charge to her driver.

"You should have gotten amended operational instructions from North Star, while en route," said Ellie. She showed him her ID, and gave him the message index Diane had given her.

The man didn't simply repeat his warning, confirming her statement. "What's your first rule?" "First, do no harm." Ellie was no spy, so a familiar code phrase was the best option.

"Check. We have the designated packages ready to load. Drive around to the ramp, we'll get them on board." The rest of the stuff would go to the original drop-off point.

"Thank you, Agent."

He nodded sharply, once. "You're welcome, ma'am."

He stepped back, and the driver moved their van to the designated spot. She got out, clipboard in hand, and verified the contents of the required boxes. This was definitely not the time to find out they'd misplaced one cable. It should be just a formality, Manoosh and Sam had been quite thorough in their packing job, but this diversion of these crates hadn't been planned for at the time. Once she gave her approval, the squad came forward and moved the boxes carefully into her transport.

Ellie couldn't get out of there fast enough. She had to make sure her brother was alone in his own mind.

* * *

Later, back in the lab…

"Good afternoon, team," said the General. "What have we learned about this Yuri Gobrienko?"

"Not a lot, General, and none of it's good" said Casey. "We started with his incarceration in Seabrook, but the trail runs cold very quickly. It's his only datum in our system."

"One arrest and he's in a supermax facility?"

"He was captured pretty much by accident at a crime scene involving a building collapse," said Carina. "They linked him to the victim by his teeth marks. Plus he's bigger than Casey. Actually, the victim was bigger than Casey."

"Neither of them had any history in our criminal databases," said Casey, teeth clenched. "This guy may have been pulling a Pichushkin, going after a local enemy on foreign soil. We were about to expand our search to foreign sources, especially Russian."

"Don't bother, Colonel. I farmed that work out already." Another window opened up, with Hannah's face framed in it. "I believe you're already familiar with her qualifications. I've tapped her to be the team's analyst and C-and-C specialist during Chuck's absence."

"That's excellent news, General," said Casey. Carina waved, and Hannah smiled back. But while the news was good, the reason for it was probably not. "Any word on Chuck's status, ma'am?"

Beckman clasped her hands, leaning into the monitor somewhat. "I have to say…favorable, but complicated. You will be happy to know that Mr. Bartowski has already regained consciousness."

Even Casey smiled at that news.

"However, whatever the Belgian did to him has had unexpected side-effects. Ellie and Dr. Dreyfus are evaluating him now. The best scenario presently available has him absent from the team for several months at least."

"Months?"

"In the less favorable scenarios his absence is indefinite, Agent Miller, so let's count our blessings. In the meanwhile, I believe Hannah has some additional insights about Mr. Gobrienko's activities."

"Yes, General." Hannah's hands sprang into action, while Beckman's window retreated into a corner as she yielded the floor. A number of photographs, none of them high-quality, filled the interior space. "Yuri Gobrienko is Alexei Volkoff's constant companion when he travels, which isn't often." Circles sprang up around pairs of men in each image. "Prior to his arrest and Mr. Volkoff's appearance in the Buy More, these were the best pictures we had of either man. The only sign we have that he is a bodyguard is Miss Volkoff's statement, and I am inclined to distrust that."

"Why?" asked Carina.

"His presence in the US at the time of his arrest had no purpose, as Volkoff was still in Moscow. As Colonel Casey and Agent Bartowski were closing in he would have kept a bodyguard nearer."

Casey grunted a negative. "Neh, he wasn't afraid of us. We were–" _just bait._

"You were what, Colonel?" asked Beckman into his silence.

Casey cleared his throat. "We were there and we were convenient, General, but Marko said they were really after a pair of master spies, who openly used public transportation and U.S. Embassies, like ordinary people." He looked at Carina.

"He was afraid of _us_?"

"You were following Orion's trail, digging up Volkoff operations even Marko didn't know about. He said you got closer than anyone, and we were sitting in the factory when he said it."

Carina smiled, looking pleased.

"Don't let it go to your head, Miller. Orion did it first, without a map, and he didn't get caught."

Now Carina frowned, displeased. "You're a real buzzkill, you know that, Casey?"

"Thank you."

"Are they always like this?" asked Hannah.

"You learn to live with it," said Beckman.

"I think I can do that. So the question remains, why would Volkoff send his main bodyguard away with either threat approaching, and do we want Volkoff to get him back?"

"We could bring him in," suggested Casey, always in favor of the direct approach. "His cover's blown and he's already in custody."

"That would alert Volkoff we know of the Gobbler's importance, and leave Sarah hanging," said Hannah.

"If we leave him there she'll get him out, and then he's back to Volkoff."

"Unless we stop her."

Beckman shook her head. "We need to defeat him, Agent Miller, not just stop him."

"Plus his opposition is kind of static at the moment. Stop Sarah and he'll take it personally," said Hannah with a shudder. There was a time and place for that, and this wasn't it.

"It's a classic Trojan scenario," said Carina, taking the General's hint.

"Volkoff will know that as well as us," said Casey. "Anything we plant on Yuri, Volkoff will find on him just as easily, probably while he's five hundred miles away."

"So don't plant it on Yuri," said Hannah. "Plant it on Sarah."

* * *

Moscow…

"Come with me," said Frost, and Sarah did as she was directed. Frost led her to her office, a Spartan place for all of its size. "Here." She handed Sarah a small computer.

"What is it?"

"My notes for the breakout. I collected them back when it was _my_ mission."

Sarah took the device, not sure why Frost was so eager to claim something that would get her killed. "Thank you." Was she that eager to die?

"Don't thank me yet, Agent Walker," said Frost. "Along with this computer you get one week to plan and execute the breakout."

"A week?"

Frost nodded. "After which he'll consider your deal forfeit. Volkoff isn't kind to those he feels have cheated him, but I think you know that already."

* * *

Manoosh pulled the car into a space by his motel room, ready to walk for a little while. He'd driven farther than he'd planned, not stopping for much, and he was starving and tired. Standing there by the door, he stretched, forcing his body upright after too long in a sitting position. For a second he got dizzy, and dropped the keys.

He caught them on the way down, whacking his head on the car door. He rubbed the spot, setting himself down next to the driver's seat, and a soda can rolled toward him until it hit something. _Oh yeah._ He felt around under the seat for whatever had been sliding around under there.

* * *

"A Roarke Seven?" repeated Ellie. "No, I don't know what it was doing there, Manoosh, the last time I was in that car I was four…Is it working? Do you have your–?" She rolled her eyes, unseen by him at least. "Yes, I know it's a stupid question. Of course you have them, what kind of a nerd would you be if you didn't…You do that, it's better than the crap on those TVs. Let me know what progress you make. Have fun."

"Trouble in River City?" asked Dr, Dreyfus, once he had her attention again.

Sometimes Ellie wished she could just sit and eat a pint of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream all by herself. "No, just a computer where it shouldn't be, in my Dad's car."

Dreyfus recognized her imminent meltdown, and minimized the window with the scans in favor of his calming and neutral desktop. "From the description, he has a lot of computers. It could have just gotten lost."

She looked at the landscape on his screen. "I'd like to believe that, really I do, but…I don't think my father knows _how_ to do meaningless things anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She rubbed her eyes. "Fortunately that disaster is a few days off yet. Shall we continue?"

"I think we've made a great deal of progress today," said Dreyfus, shaking his head. "I'm willing to accept that the waves associated with Carmichael are gone, and I will report that to your General."

"She's not _my_ General."

He raised a brow but otherwise ignored the comment. "However, with these more recent changes since his kidnapping still unexplained, I'll have to keep him in the secure wing for observation and interviews, for at least a few days more." He settled back in his chair. "You need some rest yourself. Go home to your husband, spend time thinking about someone other than Chuck for a while, and don't come back here until day after tomorrow at the earliest."

Ellie grimaced, the closest she could come to a smile. "Yes, Doctor."

Leo shook his head again. "Not Doctor, just a concerned colleague and a friend. This has been a very stressful time, and you handle stress better than anyone I've ever seen, but let's not find your limits today."

* * *

The next day…

Ellie pushed open the door to her office, to find Carina sitting in her chair making notes. "Hey, Carina. Nice desk, looks just like mine."

The redhead didn't look up. "Aren't you supposed to be home?"

"Leo wants me to think about something other than Chuck, but there's only 'awesome' at home, which really doesn't bear thinking about." Ellie walked up to her desk, hoping Carina might have learned how to take a hint. "What's all this?"

"Mission planning," said Carina, who had learned how to take hints but just…didn't, most of the time.

"Isn't that Hannah's job now?"

"Making the plans is," said Carina. "I'm messing them up."

Ellie gave up trying to be subtle and sat in her own guest chair. "What's the mission?"

"Hannah found a highly-placed Volkoff crony right under our noses. We're trying to find a way to put a bug on him that he doesn't know about and Volkoff won't immediately find."

Ellie said the first thing that came to mind. "Dose his food."

"The obvious ploy," agreed Carina, "But this guy eats people, so, not so good." Suddenly she looked thoughtful, while Ellie looked disgusted. "Unless we dosed one of the other prisoners, no, there's too many of them…"

"You could go in as a medical team," suggested Ellie, to get her to stop talking.

"Why?"

"He'll have every disease known to his fellow man. His victims would be perfect carriers."

"Hmm, non-standard medical care, that might work. Better than the plan _I_ came up with." Carina pressed the call button on Ellie's monitor.

Ellie rotated the screen so she could see it better. "What was that?"

"Distract the guards while someone beats the crap out of Yuri, then bug him while he's down."

Ellie laughed. "Do plans like that really work?" The monitor lit up. "Hello, General…"

* * *

A few days later, at Seabrook Correctional facility…

Guard Steve showed up as usual for his shift on the boards. After his party yesterday he was a little bit muzzy, but he was covering the board for the rec room this week. If he was lucky, no one would get stabbed, or worse, like what happened last week, during the new guy's watch. _Maybe I should trade with him today._ Nah. Much as he wanted a quiet shift, he'd just gotten the board working good again.

Ellie watched the forbidding grey stone walls loom over their completely fake genuine medical van, as it drove past guard stations to get into the loading area. "Tell me why I'm doing this again? I'm not a spy. I should be in DC with Chuck."

"Well, I'm not a nurse, but you don't see me complaining," said Carina as she drove the van. "You've done everything you can for Chuck, Ellie, and we need a medical professional to do this."

Right. "I'm a doctor."

"You're a doctor," said Carina. "You're doing what doctors do, and if one of the shots you give this guy happens to be more than purely medicinal, well, that's my business, not yours. Just pretend you're in Thailand."

 _God, no._ "I didn't go to Thailand for the fun of it. I went because _you_ needed an excuse. I went into that cesspit for Chuck's sake!"

"Well, now you're going into this one for Sarah's."

* * *

The van pulled up to the dock as the new guy watched on the monitor. Ellie and Carina handed over their credentials and were escorted into the prison on their mission of mercy.

Underneath the van, a black-haired woman clad in leather lowered herself to the ground. Quick as a cat she slid into the shadows and went to the door. It had a better grade of lock, but she had a better grade of lockpick.

The door opened in front of her.

"Agent Walker, hello," said the new guy on the other side. He pointed to the camera in the ceiling. "Smile for Mr. Volkoff."

"That's not part of the plan," said the woman, not smiling. She handed him a buzzer for the way out.

He took it and shrugged. "The plan's changed." He offered her a silenced gun.

She shook her head. "I brought my own," she said, holding up a tranq pistol. She smirked at his confusion. "The plan's changed."

* * *

Ellie and Carina waited patiently in the Medical office, chatting with the prison doctor about topics of mutual interest, medicine on the one hand and rock-climbing on the other. Outside the door a parade arrived, and two guards stepped inside, ending their quiet time. "Duck your head, prisoner."

A third guard entered, pulling a chain attached to a little wheeled cart. Attached to the cart was a giant of a man, cuffed, chained, and even muzzled.

"What's all this?" asked Ellie.

"He maimed another prisoner a few days ago," said the doctor. "Three fingers, down the hatch." The doctor tried to be nonchalant in front of Carina. "Good morning, Gobbler. Try to be nice for the nice ladies."

Yuri head-butted him to the ground. Carina caught the edge of the muzzle with one hand and shoved the hard nails of the other against the underside of his jaw. "Try that with me and I'll rip out your tongue and shove it down your throat," she said. "You'll enjoy your last meal and you'll die, and you'll even do it in the right order. We're trying to help you, dumb-ass, make sure you're nice and healthy…for your execution."

She stepped back and a guard took her place, aiming his rifle at the Gobbler's head, but Yuri seemed more impressed by Carina.

Ellie stepped forward, holding up a syringe. "I'm going to take a blood sample, so I can see what we're dealing with here." Once that was taken, she held up another, and squirted out a small stream of liquid. "A broad-spectrum antibiotic, until we can find out what else might be needed."

As she approached, everyone focused on her proximity to danger, and so they were slow to notice or respond to the sound of sacks of meat dropping outside the door.

* * *

The new guy made sure to let all the other guards know what was happening. Once he had their attention firmly elsewhere, he triggered his gizmos to loop the screens they weren't watching. He opened the last door with a bang, making Guard Steve jerk in his chair. "Steve, you've been neglecting your duties." The new guy stepped out of the way, as the other guards brought in the rest of the surprise. "Why did they all have to hear about your birthday from me?"

* * *

A black-clad whirlwind swept in and with a precise shots incapacitated the guards nearest the door before they could turn. The doctor with the syringe fell next, and the man with the rifle behind her.

The doctor's assistant took a swing at her, but the invader blocked it and dropped her with a kick. "And stay down," she said, shooting the nurse with a final dart. The prison doctor came up but she merely pushed him into a wall and he dropped.

The woman took the guard captain's keys, along with the van keys from the nurse's pocket, and turned to the prisoner. "Volkoff wants you back," she said. "But all things considered I think I'll leave you as you are." She picked up the chain and with no obvious sign of effort, pulled his cart from the room and back to the loading dock.

* * *

The new guy ate his cake slowly, drawing out the pleasure of it. So moist. The other guards felt the call of duty first and left, until finally it was just him and the lucky fellow. The phone in his pocket buzzed twice, and he checked the screen. With a tap he activated the self-destructs on the gizmos he'd planted in all the boards last week. With a sigh he dropped the plate with a frosting flower into the trash. "I better get going myself. You know what they say, no rest for the wicked." He moved past Steve to the door.

Steve looked confused. "Isn't that 'no rest for the weary'?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I got it right." The new guy hurled a knife into Steve's neck, closing the door on the spray of blood. "Happy Birthday."

* * *

At a small, nondescript airfield…

The cargo plane was small, not big enough to take the whole van, so Sarah got out to oversee the handling of her prize, as another lady got in. She tossed a bundle of clothing into the former guard's lap. "Get in the back. Take off that uniform, we'll leave it in the van when we torch it."

He did as she said, trying not to fall as the van bounced around on its way somewhere else. "This square's me with Volkoff, right?" he asked as he pulled on his pants.

She shot him in the back. "Yep. No hard feelings." Following her instructions, she put on a black wig and drove the van to a bus station. She splashed some ammonia onto the man's fingertips, left the van in the lot, and got on her bus, never to be seen again.

* * *

In the air, Sarah handed over the keys to the chains, as the gurney team wheeled Yuri over to a spot with lots of equipment ready and waiting. "Checking for bugs?"

"Da."

She nodded. It's what she would have done. "I'm going to go wash off. I am all over filth under this suit." She scratched at her arm.

The guard pointed to a bathroom and walked away. A robe hung on the back of the door. She killed the lights and washed in the dark, until she got the robe on, then continued cleaning the exposed bits in the light.

Someone pounded on the door. "Give suit!"

She opened the door and shoved the leather rag at him. "Take suit."

Finally, clean and itch-free, she walked barefoot out of the room and winced. Yuri looked much better chained and muzzled than he did naked. The outside of her suit, too tight to have anything except her on the inside, was getting a thorough going over as well. Volkoff was taking no chances.

"Your turn," said a guard, pointing at the equipment.

"I don't think so."

The guard moved his gun to a more ready position. "Volkoff orders."

The room was filled with an air of anticipation. _Great._ "To anyone here who thinks that anyone other than my husband will be seeing me naked, I have a word of advice. Fingernails are hard, eyeballs aren't."

Air of anticipation completely gone. The guards clutched their guns more tightly, while the techs brought out a folding panel. "You have screen, da?"

"Da."

She stood behind the screen, checked for tripwires, and took off the robe, adopting the same position in front of the scanner that Yuri had been in. "Go ahead." When the machine stopped humming she put on her robe.

Someone stepped behind the panel, not a technician. This guard had no gun, and wore blue rubber gloves. "Cavity check," he said, leering at her.

When the screaming started, everyone turned to see. The screen fell. The guard was writhing on the floor, hands over his eyes, his face smeared with blood and other fluids. Sarah stood over him, wiping her gory fingers on the robe. "Don't look at me," she said mildly. "The cavity check was his idea."


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N** I do wish they'd told us what Casey said to Dreyfus, so I had to come up with my own. I had a lot of fun with the red herrings. Chuck's breakout from the facility wasn't modeled on Bryce's theft of the Intersect so much as it was on River Tam's escape in the movie Serenity. Not good enough to beat the Janitors, but nothing is.

I was having a tough time keeping Chuck's voice stable in my head in the prison riot scene. It went back and forth between Tommy Lee Jones and Nicholas Cage.

* * *

At a CIA Psychiatric Facility…

Leo Dreyfus looked up as his office door opened, and his most interesting non-patient came in. "Good morning, Chuck."

Chuck noted the empty chair. "Ellie's not here yet?" he asked as he sat in his usual spot, on the edge of the couch.

"She's not coming, Chuck," said Dreyfus. "I told her to take some time away from your case yesterday, but apparently she just got onto your wife's case instead. She left for Oregon this morning as part of an interception team." He didn't bother to ask how that made Chuck feel.

Chuck set his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "They took my sister on a mission? Interesting."

Chuck's lack of reaction was more interesting to Leo. "You don't seem especially alarmed by this, or even upset."

"Oh, I'm upset, all right, but the only way to fix that is to be there myself, and the only way to be there myself is for you to sign off on my release, and the only way to do that is not…seem… upset." Chuck took a breath. "But I'm really not alarmed, I know that Casey and Carina will take good care of her."

"Casey's not with them."

Chuck shot to his feet. "Okay, now I'm alarmed."

"You have doubts about Agent Miller's ability?"

Chuck waved that away, pacing. "No, I don't have any doubts, which is actually, um, part of the problem. Where they used to call Sarah a 'wild-card enforcer', they just called Carina a 'wild card.' That's not how my sister rolls."

"They worked well enough together in your rescue."

"Casey was there," countered Chuck. "He would have supported Ellie. What the hell are they thinking?"

"I think you might be underestimating Agent Miller, but the real question is, what are _you_ thinking?" said Leo.

"I'm thinking I need to get to Oregon as soon as possible," said Chuck, running his hands through his hair. He walked up to the desk, leaned his hands on it, and _loomed._ "Tell me how I can do that, Doctor."

* * *

At NSA Headquarters…

Someone tapped on her door. "Come," said the General. Colonel Casey entered the room, one of the few people she actually wanted to see that day. "Everything go smoothly, Colonel?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. A federal agent and a neurologist should have had no trouble boarding a flight all on their own, and didn't. It was the 'all on their own' part that bothered Casey, and it showed in his voice.

"They can handle it themselves, John," she said suddenly, putting all other concerns aside. "The training wheels have to come off sometime. Which is why I need you here."

"'Special Agent Bartowski', ma'am?"

"Exactly." She handed him a folder, with all sorts of warning labels on it. "Dr. Dreyfus believes, and I concur, that his sister's engagement actively in the field might be enough to push Chuck over the edge. If that happens–when that happens, we'll need you…ready to hand."

"To do what, ma'am?"

She opened a desk drawer, and took out a small pouch, about the size of his hand, and pushed it across the desk at him. "What you do best, Colonel." He looked at it with distaste, and made no move to pick it up. She forced his hand. "Dismissed."

He picked up his package, tucking it away where he wouldn't have to see it, and stood. "Ma'am."

* * *

Manoosh was in his motel room, screwing desperately.

Tomorrow he would be back in DC. His self-imposed deadline to fix the Roarke Seven he'd found under the driver's seat in her father's car would expire, and then, well…

Well, nothing, really, but it was a pride thing. He should be able to fix one of these in his sleep, but this one just threw up one roadblock after another. He'd actually had to stop and get parts, so he probably already lost his bet with Sam, too, but really this stupid machine–

It beeped at him. He didn't drop his screwdriver, but it was a near thing.

He carefully set his tool aside, and checked to make sure he hadn't left any screws lying around. Then he turned over the computer.

KNOCK KNOCK, said the screen in familiar block letters.

He typed _Orion?_ but the screen simply cleared his entry. He typed _Who's there?_ but the screen cleared his entry again. He typed–he erased everything and sat very far back from the machine. This was _sooo_ not his business! Orion's computer in Orion's car for Orion's daughter? What was he _thinking_?

He reached out and shut the laptop, relieved that it closed obediently. He opened the lid and the screen lit again with the same prompt. He closed it. _Yeah! It worked!_ He fixed it.

He high-fived himself, and went to bed.

* * *

John Casey sat in his chair, tired but not ready to sleep. That sort of thing happened, when he wasn't where he needed to be. Tomorrow two teammates dressed in scrubs with not a single weapon between them would enter a maximum-security prison that he could have infiltrated in his sleep, hoping to find a homicidal maniac waiting for them. And even if Sarah wasn't there, they still had to deal with the Gobbler.

Life just wasn't fair, sometimes. He flipped another page in Chuck's file, getting more concerned with every line.

He opened the pouch the General had given him, pulled out the gun inside. Not his usual make or model, but that was only to be expected. The less this business could be connected to John Casey the better, as far as John Casey was concerned. He couldn't imagine ever using it, and what would he say to Sarah if he did? He shoved the gun back into the pouch, and put the pouch and the file it came with into his safe.

He had to get out of here, take a walk, clear his head. He had to go somewhere, do something.

* * *

Chuck waited until that night to make his move. With his sister gone, he'd been able to take a paperclip from Leo's desk the day before, not that he had any plans to use it, just…because. He hadn't even meant to take it, he just noticed it on the desk, and then on the way back to the day room he felt it in his hand.

When the guard made his latest pass Chuck was ready, improvised lockpicks in hand and the door already open. Two doors down on the left, another patient with curly hair. With a thumb to the neck Chuck made sure his sleep was dreamless and uninterrupted, then carried him back to his own bed, just in case some guard got curious.

Whoever had installed the cameras had done with an eye to security, but whoever had installed the furniture didn't have that eye. The two cameras should have covered for each other, but the table along the wall blocked the view for one. As the other panned away, Chuck ran and slid under the table to get past the sensor. He bounced off the wall, then the table, and perched himself–thank you, _Serenity_ –above the door, braced against one wall, one camera, and a light fixture. He waited.

The door beneath him opened, and a janitor walked through, pushing a bucket with a stick. Chuck put a long arm through the doorway, reaching for the camera strut on the other side, and swung himself through, reaching for the next light fixture. The hall was clear and clean, but he felt, he _knew_ , something was wrong. He looked down, back through the door.

The janitor stood there, looking at him. He mimed a gun, pointing it at Chuck– _bang!–_ blowing imaginary smoke from the pretend barrel– _Gotcha!_ –before he turned away and started to mop. The door closed between them and Chuck dropped down, trying to remember Pebbles' password algorithm for the next door.

* * *

On the front walk of a nice looking house in a nice DC suburb…

Casey moved like a man in a dream, or a nightmare. _What am I doing here?_ The middle of the night was no time to be making a house call. Well, not on the good guys, anyway. With the good guys you rang the doorbell, like so.

Dr. Dreyfus was surprisingly alert, and answered the door promptly. "Colonel…Casey," he said with mild surprise.

"You remember me?" said Casey.

"The events of that day are burned into my memory, Colonel," said Dreyfus with a chuckle. "And if need be, I have the DVD to bring it all back."

Casey had no desire to remember that afternoon, one of the most uncomfortable of his life. He recalled getting beaten up by his own daughter with more pleasure. Fortunately Carina got tranqed too, so she didn't bug him about it much. "May I come in? I really need to talk to you about Chuck."

Leo opened his door wider. "I would be very interested to hear it."

* * *

"Just so you know, Colonel," said Leo, leading his guest into the living room. "I may not be Chuck's physician, but I am evaluating his readiness for the world and the world's readiness for him. Anything you have to say to me will factor in that evaluation. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, Doctor."

"Call me Leo. Please, sit." He subtly influenced Casey's choice by pointing to one chair while seating himself in the other. "What's on your mind?"

"You just said it. Chuck's readiness for the world."

"Interesting," said Leo, with a slight smile, quickly quashed. "You don't think he is?"

Casey looked uncomfortable. "He's got the skills. You can't question his ability."

Casey's reservations were in the file. "You still question his attitude?"

"I wish I could."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning…" Casey took a deep breath. "Meaning I've been a soldier, most of my life. I've seen things, hell, I've _done_ things that changed me, left me a different man on the other side with no way to get back."

"I understand," said Dreyfus, and he did. Not the soldiering part, of course, but every man has that sort of experience if he's paying any attention to his life at all.

"I'm not a good man, and I know that," said Casey. He looked down at his hands. "You can't do what I do, as long as I have, without being good at it, without enjoying it, even just a little bit, and no good man should enjoy what I do."

Dreyfus withheld comment on that. Not that he agreed with it, entirely, but the Colonel Casey Chuck often talked about wasn't a man to reveal himself too much, or too often. Now was a time for listening, not talking.

"I was turned down for Special Forces training, you know. I walked out of that tent thinking maybe I should just go home, but how _could_ I go home after that? Then Keller came along and gave me a way out." Casey looked down at the carpet, and the patterns in it. "I wonder sometimes what my life would have been like if I'd gone home to Kath instead."

Dreyfus wasn't privy to the Colonel's file, but from Chuck's description of their early days together, he had no doubt that John Casey would have been a happier man if he'd refused the offer.

"Keller reeled me in like a fish. For all I know he had me rejected, just so he could get his hooks into me. My daughter grew up fatherless because of him."

"Your situations are hardly parallel," said Dreyfus. As he expected, the sound of his voice had much the same effect as a bucket of water.

"Our what?"

"Chuck isn't like you, Colonel," said Dreyfus calmly. "For one thing, he's got people like you and Agent Bartowski looking out for his interests."

Hardly the point. "He's a good man, Doctor. I don't want Volkoff doing to him what Keller did to me. He doesn't belong here."

"Maybe not, but it sounds to me like this is exactly the place where he's needed. Your profession seems to be desperately short of good men."

Casey grunted an acknowledgement.

"In any event, Colonel, it's not your call, or mine, to make. Chuck made his choice. He knows what he wants and he's doing what he needs to do to get there. That's hardly the act of a rudderless orphan."

Like Alex Coburn had been back in Honduras, jobless and alone. He'd chosen the easy out, and deserved to die. Chuck had made the harder choice, and even now John Casey was trying to choose the easy way out. _You don't honor a man's courage by putting him in a box._

"In fact," continued Dreyfus, "When I answered the door before, I was honestly expecting Chuck to be standing there, not you."

"If that's the case, Doctor, you shouldn't have left your oriole window open," said Chuck, stepping into the room.

* * *

The next day…

Chuck walked on board the private plane, took a long look around. "You guys still think I'm that dangerous?"

Casey came up behind him and looked around the flying deathtrap. Chuck was thinking and observing like a spy. On the other hand, now he wouldn't have to hide it _or_ explain it. A net plus in his book. "That sounds like something Carmichael would say, trying to make me feel guilty, get me off my guard," he said, pushing Chuck out of the way.

Chuck sighed. "True enough. Carmichael could say 'Good morning' and make you wonder if it was either."

"You got that right," said Casey. "Now sit down, shut up, and settle in. You want to be ready in case they need us."

* * *

Later, in the air…

The noise woke Casey. Gunfire and explosions. No, that wasn't it. He could sleep through an artillery barrage, if it was someone else's.

Laughter, idiot comments, and trash-talking. No one could sleep through that. He looked at Chuck, frantically busy with a tablet, playing some game. "What the hell are you doing, moron?" he snarled. "I thought I told you to settle in."

"I am, I mean, I was going to, but I wanted to chill with some COD and then these new reflexes kicked in and–"

Casey walked right through the monologue and snatched the pad from his hand. "Gimme. Now go to sleep."

Chuck couldn't get angry, his body agreed with his handler. "Fine. Be that way, Mr. Grumpypants." He rolled over.

Casey turned. "What did you just call me?" But Chuck was snoring at the wall and didn't answer him.

* * *

The noise woke Chuck. Laughter, idiot comments, and trash-talking. No, that wasn't it. He could sleep through a Halo marathon, if it was someone else's.

Gunfire and explosions, though? No one could sleep through that. He fumbled in his pocket and got out his earbuds, throwing them over his shoulder at the noise.

Unfortunately, when it came to taking hints, Casey went to the same school Carina did.

* * *

Chuck flung himself sideways, absorbing the impact with his shoulder while his other hand aimed straight and true, finger flexing. His target didn't fall.

"I dropped an ice cube, idiot," said Casey, waving his glass in the air. He took a sip. "Good reflexes, though, you would've dropped me if you'd actually had a gun."

Chuck pushed himself off the ground, rubbing his shoulder as he reseated himself. "You don't mind that I just tried to shoot you? Isn't that something Carmichael would do?"

Casey grunted an amused negative. "Carmichael would've remembered he was unarmed."

* * *

Later, on the ground in Oregon…

FBI Special Agents Charles and Casey produced their credentials at the gate and asked to speak with the warden, but even so were made to wait for the man himself. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Chuck took point, of course. "We have reliable intel that an attempt will be made to break out one of your prisoners in the near future, a charming fellow named the Gobbler," he drawled in his Mr. Charles persona.

"Try the recent past. Some black-haired bitch in a catsuit just loaded him in a medical van and drove right out the front gate."

Agent Charles looked at Agent Casey. "Sounds like the Black Widow."

Agent Casey nodded silently.

"Who's the Black Widow?" asked the warden.

Chuck turned back to him. "We'll take it from here. Why a medical van?"

The warden wasn't quite so ready to yield. "The guy she took was getting some shots. We're holding the medical team, in case they were accomplices. She also killed a guard. Guy just had a birthday, too."

"That's…not the Black Widow's M.O.," said Agent Charles. "She's no killer, and she works alone. We'll need to see the crime scene, right now."

"We'll have to go the long way around, unless you got a riot squad in your pocket."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The dead guard was monitoring the rec room. Without him things got out of hand. Normally we just let them pound themselves into the ground but that could take a while."

"If your incarcerated population thinks I'm going to wait until they've settled their affairs they are sorely mistaken. Lead the way."

The warden shook his head, but did as he was told. They could have found it without him, just by following the noise. "My, my, my, what a mess."

"That ping-pong table was new, too. Gonna be a while before we can requisition another one."

Chuck turned to Casey. "John, would do me a favor and hold my glasses?" As Casey took them, Chuck added for the warden's benefit, "They break real easy." He waded into the swirling mass of orange jumpsuits.

The noise level dropped precipitously. At some point the melee got below critical mass, and the whole thing just….stopped.

Chuck stood in the center of a sprawled mess. He straightened his tie. "What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"

For a second no one said anything, then, "Big Lou stole the crip's applesauce!"

"You're dead," shouted someone big enough to be Lou, but 'the crip' was a little harder to spot. Chuck saw bandages on the side of the room, out of the fight. The guy was missing three fingers from his left hand.

Chuck turned to Lou, shaking his head. "As if this little valley in your life's road wasn't deep enough." He walked up to the man. "I hope that applesauce was real good, Lou, 'cause I intend to…study you." He walked around his new subject. "Every dirty secret, every dark deed, brought to light. No more applesauce for you, ever." Lou raised a hand. "Oh, please don't assault me now, Lou, that would just send you down a rat-hole too damned quick." Lou's hand went down. "Much better. See, your valley don't have to be as deep as all that."

Chuck turned his back on Lou. "Gentlemen, you are impeding a federal investigation. A guard has been murdered, so unless you want to be considered accomplices after the fact I suggest you step aside."

The prisoners weren't utter idiots. "Where's Steve?" "Was it Steve?" "The guy just had his birthday! I saw 'em with the cake and everything."

"You saw _who_ with a cake?"

"The other guards."

Chuck turned to the warden. "I trust birthday parties on duty are not standard procedure."

The warden looked his men over grimly. Someone's career would suffer for this, but it wouldn't be his. "No, sir, they are not."

"Probably a diversion," said Casey.

"Of what?" asked Chuck. "To what? And why?" He looked at the inmates. "Well, I doubt we'll find any answers here." Suddenly he stood in middle of a vast empty space, as everyone found something more interesting to do. "Shall we?"

* * *

One crime scene investigation later…

The box of bagged and labeled evidence went into the trunk. The two women of the medical team, possible accomplices, were cuffed and stuffed in the back seat, as the FBI agents drove out of the prison to pursue the Black Widow.

Or something like that.

"Can we stop and get these cuffs off, please?" asked Ellie.

Carina brought her hands around front. "Got you covered, Doctor."

Casey looked in the rear-view. "Do you wear those things all the time?"

"Please don't answer that," said Chuck. "Did you get your shot in?"

Carina opened her hand, revealing the mini-syringe. "I hope so. I think it went in when she blocked my punch, but we weren't expecting that leather outfit."

"You'd better have a lot more to this plan of yours than hope," said Chuck dangerously.

"It's not my plan, it's Hannah's," said Carina quickly. Casey got out his phone, and made a call.

Chuck sidelined his angst for the moment. "Hannah's on the team now? Great," he said, smiling. Then he stopped smiling. "No, not great. Now I have to come up with code names for her too."

"Maybe you should let _her_ be 'Bedrock'," said Carina sourly, remembering the codename Chuck tried to foist off on her long ago.

"Hey, don't blame me. How was I to know you were upgrading your banter?" said Chuck. "It's good, though, she seems like a sort of bedrock-y kind of person. But we still need something to go with the whole optical motif…"

"Chuck, focus," said Ellie. "Your wife is at the heart of a criminal's lair, a proper codename is hardly the priority right now."

"She's not at the heart of it," said Casey, putting away his phone. "But she's on her way. Beckman says the trackers you injected her with are moving steadily toward Moscow. Once the antitoxin clears her head, we'll have a perfect mole."

Chuck unsidelined his angst, slapped it around a bit, and stuffed it in a box, next to his concerns about Hannah's other codename. "So what's the play?"

Casey nodded. "We position ourselves for an extraction, and wait for her to contact us."

"Boy, I wish your plan had some specifics to it."

"We check the van they found. Then Ellie and Carina are going back to DC, Manoosh has something for Ellie to look at. You and me? We're going to Prague."

* * *

At that moment, in the air over the Pacific…

The guard pounded on the door. "Give suit!"

The door opened, but she already had the robe on and he couldn't see anything, even in the mirror, before she blocked his view. "Take suit," she snapped, shoving it at him.

Disappointed, he stalked back to the waiting techs and threw the suit at them. They didn't bother with a visual inspection, not with the floor show they expected as soon as the bitch came out of the bathroom. Instead they just ran a hand scanner over the outside of the suit. The scanner wasn't programmed for pinholes, nor was it powerful enough to detect the presence of the trackers smeared all over the inside of one sleeve.

Inside the bathroom, Sarah checked the itching spot on her arm, but saw no wound. She scrubbed harder at it, until the itch went away.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N** Back in season 1 of this story I completely skipped Pink Slip, in favor of the opening two episodes which established the scenario for this story. I had hoped at the time that other authors would be interested in the idea of the removable Intersect and write stories of their own in this universe, but then I got around to rewriting Three Words and the whole story just took off.

S4 proposed the separation of Chuck and Sarah but in name only. Volkoff was defeated in ridiculous time and they were back together. My season 2 took that separation seriously. Since Chuck and Sarah were together and married, a little thing like some distance between them was nothing much, or should have been, if not for the fear toxin. As a result I needed some material to fill in that longer gap, and so Pink Slip found a somewhat more natural home.

* * *

In the air, on the way back to DC…

"And you're sure the needle went in, Agent Miller?"

"Yes, General."

"Good. We're getting a good signal from the tracking bots suspended in the antitoxin, so Hannah estimates a dosage above the minimum."

Chuck raise a hand.

"Yes, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Hannah's new code name is 'Bedrock', General, just thought I'd mention that. We don't have one for the other motif yet."

"Chuck, focus. This is not the time." The monitor on the conference room table was small, but still Diane Beckman managed to dominate the room. "Ellie, any idea how long it would take for the anti-toxin itself to work?"

"I have no baseline, General, and this action was uncontrolled. It appears to take effect more slowly than the toxin when both are inhaled, and the injected toxin took effect pretty quickly, compared to the inhaled variety. Those are the only data points I have. Hopefully she'll come to her senses on the way back, but it may take longer."

"But the operation itself went exactly as expected," said Beckman, nodding. "That's both a pleasure, and a surprise."

"Not…exactly as expected, General," said Casey. "A guard was killed, with a knife like Agent Bartowski's. Chuck and I had to extract Ellie and Carina as suspects."

It's always something. "Did she throw it?"

* * *

The reunion between Volkoff and his chief henchman was touching, and typically Russian, although Volkoff had to stretch a bit to do the hug.

"You said it was a suicide mission," said Sarah softly to Frost, as they watched Yuri stammer out an apology.

"I did."

"It went off like clockwork," said Sarah. "They never even knew I was there until after I'd gone, if they ever found out at all. How is that suicide?"

Volkoff drew his gun and shot Yuri in the head. The walls were already pretty much that same color, so it wasn't as noticeable as it might have been, unless you were standing directly behind him. The cleaning lady would need a ladder.

Frost nodded. "Yuri failed, but he came back anyway. That was suicide."

"Father?" said the third witness in the room, as Volkoff went to the corpse.

"Yes, Vivian darling?" asked Volkoff as he knelt.

"Did you just kill your chief bodyguard?"

"Oh, Yuri was never my bodyguard, chief or otherwise," said Volkoff, digging at the dead man's face. "He just looked the part. What he really guarded was something infinitely more precious." He looked up sheepishly. "It'll be just a minute."

"Would you like Sarah to help?" asked Frost. "She's good with eyes."

Volkoff laughed, almost covering the little sucking sound. "I've got it." He held up a glass eye in glistening fingers.

Vivian was less than impressed. "That is more precious than you?"

"The only reason I'm not dead long since is that no one could ever find this," said Volkoff, going to his desk. "This is my entire database, and more. I call it Hydra." He pressed a button and a complicated-looking mechanism rose out of his desk. He set the false eye carefully on the center disk, setting the outer arms spinning, laser heads reading the complicated crystalline structure like a book.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why call it Hydra? Wouldn't Argos or Odin have been more appropriate?"

Alexei gave her a fond and proud look. He turned to his other ladies. "Benefits of a classical education." He turned back to his daughter. "Odin traded his vision for foresight. This eye is very much in the here and now. Argos watched and waited, but _this_ eye is meant for battle. This is the heart of Volkoff Industries!"

"Your entire database?"

"Communications protocols." Glowing holographic panels popped up. "Code keys." More panels. "Encryption keys, flow charts. The entire puzzle, all in here."

"Yuri carried your whole organization?" asked Frost.

 _No wonder she could never find it,_ thought Sarah.

"He did," said Volkoff, as the screens faded and the arms stilled. "But I don't think he'll be carrying it anymore." He set the eye down, and picked up a small metal statue of a horse.

"You're not going to smash it," said Vivian, horrified. "It's your life's work."

"The data is my life's work," corrected her father. "But I just downloaded that to a more secure back-up location, another head to replace the one I just lost, thanks to Mr. Charles."

Vivian bristled. "Don't blame Chuck–Mr. Charles–for Yuri's own weaknesses."

"Human error, then. In any event, this is just glass." He raised the statue again.

She reached out a hand to stop him. "May I have it?"

"Do you want it?" he asked. "I had planned to give it to you, of course, but with a bit more, you know, presentation. A nice box, a card, perhaps, although I don't suppose they make cards for empire-building…" He put down the statue, and picked up the eye.

Vivian held out her hand.

He started to give it to her, but stopped. "One moment." He reached for a tissue.

She raised her hand, wrapping her fingers around the slimy sphere. "No need."

Alexei grinned. "That's my girl!"

Vivian turned to the other women, one in particular. "Would you like to see it, Agent Walker?" she asked, squeezing her hand. The eye popped up between her thumb and forefinger, and she held it out. "After all, you've gotten closer than anyone in your whole organization to the heart of my father's empire. I'm sure you'll treasure the memory as you go back home to tell your superiors all about how you brought it back to us."

"Don't tease the operatives, daughter," chided Volkoff. "It's gauche."

 _The fun things usually are._ "Yes, Father."

"And besides, it sets a poor tone for future relations with your new employees."

* * *

Officer Davis met Carina at the airport and took her into custody. Ellie wanted to get her husband home even more, if such a thing can be imagined, but not for the same reason.

"Whoa, Europe?" asked Devon. Chuck had always wanted to go to Europe.

" _Eastern_ Europe, Devon," said Ellie. "Not France. Can't this thing go any faster?"

"It's a Sienna, babe," said Devon mildly, hitting his blinker. "Five star crash test safety rating, not so hot with the drag racing."

Ellie leaned her head back against the headrest. "I can't wait to get my Dad's car."

"It got here yesterday."

 _Boing_! "It what?"

"Your lab guy brought it to the house, seemed kind of disappointed you weren't here. I hope you weren't planning to put a baby seat in that thing, we only got one and I mounted it in here already."

"No, honey," she said through clenched teeth. "No car seat."

* * *

Casey made Chuck follow him to his car.

"Where are we going?" asked Chuck. "It's not like we're going to _drive_ to Prague." Then he remembered who he was talking to, and made sure to buckle up. "Is it?"

"Gotta swing by the house, pack a few things, set the security," said Casey. "We're gonna be gone a while. Could be months."

"Months? I can't be gone months, I have to be here for Sarah."

Casey pulled out before Chuck could unbuckle. "In case you missed it, Bartowski, the missus is in Moscow, so you'll be closer to her where we're going than you are right now."

Not much of a consolation. "But why do I even need to go to Prague?"

Casey never ceased to be amazed at how stupid smart people could be. "Because there's more to being an agent than swinging from rooftops and defusing bombs, numb-nuts. Sometimes the most important thing is to stand still, don't move, and above all shut up for hours at a time, all of which are skills you need to learn. The name of this game is patience, not Superman."

"I prefer Batman, he was a real hero."

Casey grunted his approval. Maybe Bruce Wayne was a gazillionaire, but he didn't rest on that. "He had to work for it. No radioactive spiders for him."

"Don't go dissing the web-slinger." Chuck wasn't a gazillionaire. He'd have to work harder for… what? "What 'it' am I working for?"

"You called yourself a Special Agent, Bartowski. You need a paper trail. Some General may want to know someday how well you did resisting interrogations, and they're not gonna buy 'they told me to faint' as an approved technique."

"I take it back."

Casey laughed, and shook his head. "I don't think so. You just gave the General three years of past due Christmas presents, Bartowski. You're hers now."

"Uh…"

"Pending Sarah's approval, that is."

* * *

Sarah brushed right past Vivian. "I don't work for you!"

"Then you have a problem," said Alexei. "A prison guard was killed by a thrown knife, bearing your fingerprints. Your accomplice was found murdered, shot in the back with your gun. Your face and hair were caught on surveillance footage, and a woman matching your description was last seen boarding a bus for parts unknown. The authorities in Oregon and its surrounding environs are a bit…vexed."

"No one on my team will believe that."

"I imagine not," said Volkoff amiably. "And once we've dropped you off, in Portland, say, or Seattle, you may manage to avoid a deadly hail of bullets long enough to contact them."

Sarah opened her mouth, to tell him just how willing she was, to take her chances.

He took a step forward. "But before that, there is still the matter of your compensation."

 _Huh?_ She took a step back. "You don't owe me anything."

"I meant what you owe me, Agent Walker. You blinded my man, and our arrangement is on a quid pro quo basis."

* * *

Once they got home Ellie practically dragged Devon into the house with her. "Sit," she commanded, turning on the TV.

General Beckman appeared on the screen. "Good evening, Ellie, I hope you had a pleasant flight."

No small talk today. "General, you can't send Chuck to Prague!"

Beckman rearranged herself into a more official posture. "Doctor, I have to send Chuck to Prague. Unless you want him dead, pretty quickly."

Ellie's face went utterly still. "You wouldn't kill him…"

Devon sat forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I have no such intention, but I wouldn't have to," said Beckman. "As skilled as he is, Chuck's understanding of our world is still primarily informed by action movies and comic books–"

"Graphic novels." Chuck said it so often it came automatically from Ellie's mouth.

Beckman ignored the correction. "The Intersect has unfortunately reinforced some of his beliefs about our work. It attracts the heavy hitters, so to speak, from both sides. He needs to learn to bunt, as well as swing for the fences."

Ellie's face wrinkled in confusion. "Why all the sports metaphors?"

"Because I know some of those. I've never read a comic book and I don't intend to start." Plus Ellie's husband was a sports nut and he sat right there, so hopefully bringing him into the conversation would get his wife's mind out of its relentlessly negative rut. Beckman took a calming breath. "Out in the field, a blown cover or failed seduction will get him just as dead as any ultimate weapon."

"I thought we agreed he wouldn't go out in the field."

"No," said the General tersely. "You agreed. I merely accepted the situation. I've been wanting him in a more active role ever since he uploaded the 2.0, but without his willing participation there was nothing I could do." Back then, Ellie and Sarah between them had united to keep Chuck out of the fold. Today the two of them had managed to bring him into it. Beckman refrained from pointing out the irony of that.

Ellie tried again. "So…what, he calls himself an agent once and you jump on him like a live grenade?"

Beckman smiled. "Only heroes jump on live grenades, Ellie. I'm no hero, but I recognize one when I see one." Beckman kept her gaze on Ellie until the younger woman looked away. "Don't chicken out on me now."

Ellie sagged. "Cluck, cluck."

"Now why don't I believe you," said the General. "He is what he is, Ellie, what you made him to be. We can't keep him safe. Just safer."

* * *

Manoosh was practically vibrating when Ellie finally managed to drag herself in the door the next day. He'd left her father's car at the house, but kept the laptop with him.

In a way, Ellie was grateful for that. Devon deserved her time and loving attention far more even than Chuck, much less some stupid computer. She was so lucky to have him in her life, keeping her grounded through all this craziness, and last night was all about showing him that she knew it.

Manoosh pointed to her desk when she showed no sign of wanting to look there on her own.

The lid to the laptop looked ominous all by itself, like a Decepticon staring at her. The lights moving back and forth reminded her of Cylon optics. If her brother survived CIA training she was going to kill him herself for putting all these images in her head. She cleared her throat. "So that's it? And you got it working?"

He pounced on the machine, popping the lid. The screen lit with words she couldn't read from where she was, so she moved. "Knock, knock."

"I already tried 'who's there'," said Manoosh. "It was stupid, I know…" Not that Orion would have done anything to him for trying.

"It wouldn't have worked," said Ellie, glad that she didn't have to say what he so obviously knew. "This is one of my father's puzzles, like a code. Only the person with the key can solve it."

"So who has this key?"

"I do," said Ellie. "Possibly Chuck, too, but he would know this was meant for me. My father would play the 'knock, knock' game with me and I would get the answer wrong, and he would laugh. He sounded so happy I never wanted to say it right." She raised her fingers to the keyboard, and Manoosh held his breath. "No," she said suddenly, and he wilted. "Let's not both make the same mistake. Get me some glasses."

He brought two.

Eyes shaded, she raised her hands again, and typed 'I'm here' into the box.

* * *

Less than a day later (or thereabouts, what with time zone shifts and travel time factored in)…

Chuck and Casey walked along the platform at Nadrazi Station, Chuck enjoying the visuals of the city as he watched for snipers, Casey just watching for snipers.

"Okay, identity check. What's your name?"

"Hi, my name is Charles Charles."

"You're obviously married. What's your wife's name?"

"Mrs. Charles, and what do you mean, 'obviously married'?"

"Well, aside from the ring, you couldn't look less available if you tried. Where's the wife now?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Good answer. Now, everybody knows who Agent Charles is. Why is he here?"

"Refresher training."

"Right. Unfortunately for you, inter-office politics and clerical shenanigans have had your assignment changed from refresher training to the full course. How do you plan to take this?"

"Uh, lying down?"

"No. With good grace."

"Isn't that the same as lying down?"

"Yeah, but it sounds better."

Chuck indicated a sleek, modern, high-tech-looking train a short way down the platform from them. "Is that for us?"

"Of course it is, Mr. Charles," said Casey. "All secret CIA training facilities have trains leading to them." He shook his head. "This is just a drop point."

"Dropping what?"

"You." Casey pretended to check points, but really he was avoiding Chuck's gaze. "Mrs. Agent Charles, wherever she is, hasn't checked in yet, they want me to try to contact her, find out what she's up to."

"So you're abandoning me in Prague."

Casey dug a finger in Chuck's chest, suddenly very focused. "I've never abandoned any of _my_ men anywhere, and I'm not about to start now. We're just waiting for–" Casey stopped and sniffed the air. "Hector?"

"God- _damn-_ it!"

"Get out here, you old hound," said Casey.

A man slightly younger-looking than Casey stepped out of a doorway. Chuck's eyes watered as he approached.

"Mr. Charles, this here is Hector Calderon, a great soldier but only a passable agent. He can do everything but sneak up on you. He'll take you to the facility." Casey made a gesture, and Hector went to get the car.

 _Windows open, I hope._ "So I can trust him?" asked Chuck doubtfully, in his absence.

"No of course you can't trust him, idiot," snapped Casey, pleased on the inside. "If there's one lesson this place can drill into that thick skull of yours, let it be that one. I'm your handler. The only people you can trust are me and the people I tell you to trust. No one else. You got that?"

"You're leaving the country."

"Yeah, so?"

* * *

Frost roamed the grounds, searching for someone who didn't want to be found. Black hair, black clothes, in the dark, Sarah might have succeeded with someone else. But Frost knew the grounds and all the security vulnerabilities intimately. "Alexei has a job for you."

Sarah wasn't even looking until Frost stepped right into her path. "I don't work for him."

Frost stepped closer. "No, you don't, Agent Walker, but we've cut off one escape route for Hydra and we need to capture it before Alexei can make another, so if you ever want to see Chuck again you'd better be working for _me_. Is that clear?"

Sarah shivered. _Never see Chuck?_ "It's clear."

"Good. Then let's try that again. Alexei has a job for you."

 _I'm sorry._ Sarah took a deep breath. "Fine. Lead the way."

* * *

He was tall, and bald, clad in leather and pointy-toed boots. He walked like he could kick the ass of any man in the room and he knew it. The only man in the room was Charles Charles, blinking and bleary from litle sleep, much abuse, and some powerful pharmaceuticals, but he remembered his briefing. _Javier Cruz is a vital operative in the Ring's Mexican Syndicate._

"You're going to tell me everything, Mr. Charles. All the secrets you know. Who you are. Who you work for," said Javier, punctuating his comments with random kicks and punches. "And then you're gonna tell me about the girl."

Chuck slid down the wall, trying to breathe. _Girl? What girl?_

Prague. Week Two.


	41. Wonder Falls

**A/N** One of the points I wanted to make with this rewrite was to extend the time it took Frost and Team B to achieve the fall of Volkoff, as well as make the corruption of Vivian and to some extent Sarah slower and more plausible. Just combining the back and front halves of the season did a lot of that, but for Sarah's part of the story I needed something more, and the one episode of S3 that I didn't rewrite, Pink Slip, came in very handy.

I have at various times thought about telling people what Chuck did to make Yuri wet himself, but I think maybe it's better to let the reader come up with his own ideas.

* * *

Somewhere in Europe, week three…

Sarah considered the advantages of working with criminal scum like Volkoff. In her CIA-driven world, she'd have had to spend weeks and lots of money trying to get this guy Gilles to notice her and bring her close to him, and that was simply as a pretty face. If they were planting her in his company as something more than that, the costs would go up astronomically.

All Volkoff had to do was give her to the man. It was undignified, sure, but she was here, and more than ready to go to work. Then she could wash her hands of this business and go home. Home. Chuck.

She rose from the pool, a blonde goddess in a skimpy white bikini, and paraded herself before her latest mark. The lust in his eyes was distasteful. Chuck had always simply appreciated her, considered himself the luckiest part of a universe that was lucky to have her. She smiled.

Gilles smiled back.

She had to stop thinking of Chuck, she had to stop right now. She should never have put Mrs. Bartowski in the box at the bottom of her soul alone. She couldn't let the likes of Gilles and Alexei taint her real life. Her heart hardened, her thoughts blackened. Her smile stayed the same.

With a gesture he directed her to stop. She stopped, preserving the illusion of control for him. If she was lucky, he would take her to his special room and try to do to her what he was famous for, in certain circles. That would be good. The sooner she could get him away from his bodyguards, the better.

His phone rang.

* * *

Casey was halfway across Poland when she called. The troll had set her ringtone to something he called The Imperial March, and Casey had yet to figure out how to set it back. At least she'd never hear it, that sort of went without saying. "General?"

"Colonel Casey," said Beckman in a scolding voice, "I trust you are on your way back to Prague."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, wondering what Bartowski'd done now.

"Good. Agent Charles' training isn't going as expected. It needs your personal supervision."

 _Surely he hadn't washed out already?_ "Yes, ma'am. Any particular issues? They should still be baselining." It was too much to hope for, that Bartowski didn't even reach minimum levels of performance. He'd relied on the Intersect for his entire career, though, so anything was possible.

"I have his first period's results on my desk. His baseline scores were higher than most agents' final grades, Colonel," said the General. "They moved him into the next phase in record time."

Casey gritted his teeth to keep from cursing as his hands clenched the wheel. _Dammit_.

The General continued, unaware, "I need you to get back there and find out how he got assigned to Intensive Interrogation Resistance training in his first module."

That wasn't supposed to happen until next week. He was supposed to have been there to control that! "I created his schedule myself, ma'am," he admitted. "It was supposed to look like a clerical error."

"It looks like the real clerks compounded it, then," said Beckman. "Word of advice, Colonel. Leave the screw-ups to the low-ranks. They're the experts."

"Is Chuck all right, ma'am?" he asked, genuinely concerned, and not just about his asset. If Chuck was injured, that would definitely bring Sarah back, but not in a good way.

"At ease, Colonel," said Beckman. "He wasn't hurt too badly."

Vast relief. Casey tried to keep his voice professional. "I hoped he would have the sense to break before they got too far, but he can be stupid that way."

"He hasn't broken yet, either."

"What?" That meant they hadn't aborted the module, as he expected. Casey pulled off, on to the shoulder. "That makes no sense. He's _still_ being interrogated? How can they be torturing him without hurting him?"

"They're not torturing him either, Colonel, except for the first day." Beckman sounded amused. "He keeps escaping."

There must have been something wrong with his phone. "He keeps…?"

"Escaping, yes. Javier upped the stakes on the second day, mentioned a second hostage."

That wasn't amusement in her voice. That was the all-too-familiar anger/pride/amazement he'd felt so often himself. "Let me guess, Chuck tried to rescue him."

"Her."

"Of course it was. Did they even have a second hostage, or did they just play the scream tape?"

"Tape, unfortunately. Not only did Mr. Bartowski do a lot of damage looking for her, when he couldn't find her he took it as a personal and professional failure."

"Oh, God…" _There'll be no stopping him now._

"The personal situation was retrieved at the debrief, but 'save the hostage' appears to have become his new default mode as an agent."

 _Of course it did._ Casey put his car back into gear. "Look at it the bright side, General. At least he's resisting interrogation."

* * *

Frost returned to a sight that was becoming ever more familiar and ever less reassuring. Vivian waited with her father, leaning against his desk, learning the family business.

"Ah, Frost," he said. "Everything go well? Package delivered smoothly?"

Something was, as they say, up. "Yes, Alexei. I couldn't have put Agent Walker into his hot and sweaty clutches any faster if he'd been greased." Frost made no secret of her disdain for certain vices. "She probably accomplished her mission before I was out the front gate. I'm supposed to waiting to extract her right now. Why call me back?"

Alexei grinned. "Vivian convinced me that I was thinking far too small, with regard to Agent Walker."

Frost glanced at the younger woman. Her smirk was remarkably subtle. "That's never been a problem of yours, Alexei."

"I know. Strange, isn't it? I took the liberty of notifying several of Gilles' associates in debauchery of his latest acquisition. I suspect they will want to be in on the action. Our little lamb will be quite safe until the wolves have gathered."

"Setting her up to do to many what she would have only done to one," concluded Frost. "Very clever, Miss Volkoff."

Vivian smiled shyly. "Thank you, Frost."

"I will monitor Gilles' communications," said Frost decisively. "This party will take some time to plan, and when it goes down I will need to be there to pick up the pieces, and recover Agent Walker."

"If there's anything to recover." Vivian's tone had nothing shy or smiling about it now.

"There will be, Miss Volkoff," said Frost. "Alexei made a deal."

Vivian turned to her father. "And you're going to keep it?"

"I must. I am Volkoff, and Volkoff stands behind his employees at all times," he said with a growl. "Lesser men cheat. I play by the rules, and I always win." He shrugged. "Besides, a cat doesn't kill his mouse on the very first toss. Where's the fun in that? Miss Walker is going to be _such_ fun!"

"She's an enemy. Isn't this a perfect opportunity to be rid of her?"

"Now who's thinking too small?" said Alexei. "Removing the queen early is a child's move. You must learn to play better than that, Vivian."

Frost watched as Vivian's features stilled, settled. Hardened.

"Yes, Father."

* * *

Week four…

Ellie Bartowski was fat. And frustrated.

And Hungry. Hungry all the time, like the little cantaloupe-sized piglet in there was making up for lost meals. She lay on the couch, stroking the bump in the middle of her belly, eating from the plate of cheese crackers Devon had brought her. So thoughtful, so perfect. She hated his guts right now.

Chuck was being turned into a spy, while his wife was missing…

Devon came back into the room. "Hey, babe, brought you a little lemonade, you look a little parched," he said, setting it down. "Mixed in a little vitamin C powder for the baby, too." He took all of her in, read her face and body language like a book that he loved to read. "What's the matter, El?"

She sighed. "Nothing. Just wallowing."

"Let me know if I can help."

She sat up and sipped her lemonade. He was right, she was thirsty. "You'd help me wallow?"

He flashed her a grin. "Or help you out of it. I'm here for _you,_ babe."

She plucked a crumb from the folds of her blouse and threw it at him. "I hate you, honey." She fell back against the arm of the couch.

"Oh, that reminds me, let me get the vacuum."

The TV came on, playing the General Beckman channel.

"On second thought," he said, backing away, "I think it's time for my run. See you later, El, General."

Ellie pulled herself to a sitting position. "What can I do for you, General?"

"You can get yourself to your lab, Doctor. Manoosh just called me with news of a possible breakthrough with your father's computer."

"I don't understand," said Ellie. "Why didn't he just call me himself?"

"The man clearly idolizes you, Eleanor, he would never intrude on what little free time you get. So he called me instead, and I decided it was high time _I_ was the one to pass along the glad tidings for once."

Wallow-time over. "Are you enjoying it?"

"It's refreshing."

Ellie smiled. "Thank you, General." She started gulping her lemonade, otherwise Devon would sulk.

"Just keep me in the loop, if you please, I could use a little genuine good news myself."

Ellie lowered the glass. "What's Chuck done this time?"

* * *

Week six…

The henchman pulled the bag from Chuck's head, mussing up the curls. Chuck glanced his way, resolving to make him pay for that. Only Sarah got to muss up his curls. The man was only an underling, though. Someone larger and fatter sat across from Chuck, someone he'd have to go through, before he could enforce his wife's prerogatives.

Chuck knew quite a lot about him, his likes–torture and pierogies, more or less in that order–and his dislikes, such as peaceful negotiations. "Agent Charles," said Mr. Bigger-and-Fatter, a/k/a Yuri, underboss for this region.

 _Still there._ That little hitch in his mind, whenever someone called him by a name that wasn't truly his. "Call me Charles." That was always better, his name, if not his nature. They always thought he was being friendly with the invitation, unaware that he was using the truth as a better class of lie. "You have something that belongs to my boss. That case," he said calmly, indicating the silver briefcase with a motion of his head. "I would like you to give it to me. Please." The 'please' was a good touch, he knew. Guys like this never took 'please' the right way at all.

"You show up with no gun," said the underboss, "And 'please, and what? I am supposed to quiver in fear?"

That would be the smarter move. Only the strongest of predators has the luxury of saying 'please'. In this context 'please' was a threat. Yuri didn't strike Chuck as being very smart. He decided to be less subtle. "Give me the case, _or else,_ " he said, tilting his body forward.

Yuri had henchmen to impress. "Or else what?" he asked rhetorically, even though he couldn't spell 'rhetorically'. "Or else I do this?" He pulled his gun and took aim at the unarmed man across from him.

Chuck wasn't really unarmed, of course. It's just that none of the guns in the room were in his hands yet. He changed that, lunging toward Yuri, grabbing the gun and twisting it out of line with his body. As tall as he was, he could easily push Yuri's hand against the bare bulb, and the hand holding the gun flinched open just enough for Chuck to pull it from his grasp.

"Cool, cool, cool," he shouted, Yuri's gun out and aimed before any of the bodyguards could react. "On the ground, nice and easy." They dropped their guns on the floor, and he looked at the boss. "Hand me the case. After that, it's pierogi time."

Underbosses don't stay underbosses very long by letting valuable property go. Yuri knew that, even if Mr. Charles apparently didn't. "So do it," he said, moving forward. "Shoot me."

When Chuck didn't instantly do exactly that, the disarmed henchmen moved in.

* * *

Diane Beckman took lunch in her office these days. Not that she wanted to, but she was running out of restaurants that would let her in the door without making her turn her phone off. Instead, when an operation was laid on for the nighttime hours in Prague, she retreated to her inner sanctum, staring at a fake window of a fake landscape, waiting for the news to break. Mr. Clark had been on a 'beach' kick, of late. She was getting tired of sand.

She ate quickly, knowing she's have no appetite afterward.

Her personal phone rang. This room had been set up without electronics long ago, simply to keep something a secret from Orion, but she decided she liked it this way. Caller ID made identification unnecessary, and she was in no mood for even the simple pleasantries. "How did it go, Colonel?"

"Chuck retrieved the case, as instructed."

"And?"

Casey sighed. "Yuri wet himself. I don't think he's coming back," he said, sounding tired. "The details will be in the report."

Hopefully buried in one of his infamous footnotes. "Did he use the gun at all?"

"Only to zipline over to the other building. He dropped off before he hit the roof, and landed on a balcony two floors below, while all the henchmen were coming out up top. He could have walked to the rendezvous point but he stayed professional the whole way. I called it before it got any more embarrassing than it already was."

"Dammit," she muttered, loud enough to be heard half a world away. "I really thought we had him this time."


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N** The show Manoosh is talking about here is an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer called 'The Body'. Brilliant episode.

* * *

Somewhere outside Moscow, week five-ish…

Carina lay on a hill overlooking the forest surrounding the bog that lay before Volkoff's country compound and the mountains behind it. This was the only vantage point from which she could watch all the roads in and out at the same time. "This is boring," she said to her field glasses.

"It's about to become less so," said her glasses back. "Satellite images show activity in the compound, and several figures headed your way."

"He knows his own high ground."

"Bug out, Carina."

"Bugging." Carina pressed the button activating the self-destruct. They could have the glasses but the com-link to Bedrock had to be severed. Then she did what she did best, led a bunch of men on a merry chase they wouldn't win.

Some stayed behind, of course, to control the hilltop. They found the glasses, but with most of the men gone they didn't have time to find the miniature optics wired to the tree branches above, before the cars started to emerge from the forest.

* * *

Washington, Week five…

"Good afternoon, Ellie, Manoosh," said General Beckman, nodding politely. "You've had a week to evaluate Manoosh's insight regarding the contents of the laptop, Ellie. Any developments?"

"Yes, General. You just want the overview?"

"Please. His initial report was obscure enough."

"Manoosh's insight was more intuitive than logical, General," said Ellie. "It took me a while to understand it myself, but it has to do with absence, not presence."

Beckman started to rub her head. "Ellie…?"

Ellie sighed. "Manoosh, tell the General where you got the idea."

"I was watching a TV show, General, and this art teacher was talking about representing an object in negative space, basically, drawing the hole that would be left if the object were to disappear, and that reminded me of something I saw in the scanner–"

Beckman stopped rubbing. "You memorized Mr. Bartowski's _brainwave_ patterns?"

Manoosh shook his head. "Not all of them, no, but I was making recordings in LA for a week and you guys were telling me to keep an eye out for weird stuff…"

Ellie cleared her throat.

"Right, moving on, we have recordings from before and after Frost showed him that object in his basement–" he pulled up graphics for comparison "–and we can clearly see some of the waves are altered or missing altogether for the same trigger image." He drew circles in various places. "In some of the scans stored on the laptop, we see the same thing." More scans, more circles. "And finally, in the code on the laptop, we have blocks that look very similar to Intersect code, but modified to do the opposite of what the Intersect code does."

Diane Beckman wasn't the smartest person in this room, but that didn't mean she was dumb. "So you're saying the code on this computer is for the device that Frost found in Orion's basement and used on Chuck?"

"Yes, General, we think so," said Ellie, "But if that's true, something very strange is going on."

Beckman didn't bat an eye. "Any other day, that'd be true."

"My brother uploaded the first version of the Intersect when he was nine, General, but the create dates on some of these files are from before he was born."

* * *

Europe, week five…

A surprisingly delicate foot, bearing an expensive high-heeled shoe, emerged from the doorway of the car, and then the second. A lucky doorman held out a hand, and the beautiful blonde passenger inside took it with a surprisingly strong grip. She rose slowly, displaying the full length of her gown-clad body for his delectation, while his face struggled to stay professionally neutral.

Sarah got out of the limo, with a gentle smile on her face. _Gilles must be ready to explode!_ Not with lust, never that, but self-torture with an untouchable beauty was part, only the first part, of his MO. The second part involved extensive touching with said beauty, after which she wasn't beautiful anymore.

The gown wasn't nearly as restrictive in its cut as it had been when she'd first tried it on. Firm, tight stitches had been replaced by loose basting with cheap thread. Not everywhere, just where she might need it. Only the shoes, necklace, and matching bracelet were as they had been when she took them out of the box.

Jealousy ran rampant throughout the club as they entered, Sarah could see it on every face. Men wishing they were in Gilles' place, women wishing to be in hers. _If they only knew._ She was doing them a favor, keeping Gilles all to herself tonight.

A firm hand strummed the guitar from the stage, and she looked up, a happy anticipation of dancing on her face. The guitarist was tall and broad-shouldered, handsome under a mop of curly brown hair. His fingers flickered effortlessly over the strings as the smile died on her face. She let Gilles guide her to their table submissively, no longer interested in dancing.

At the back of the crowd sat a woman with no sign of jealousy on her face. Between the shadows and a scarf, Carina's bright red hair had drawn no notice either. She took a picture of Gilles with her phone, and emailed it to a friend.

* * *

Moscow, week five…

"Father?"

"Yes, my pet?"

Vivian frowned, either at the peculiar choice of diminutive, or the casual, almost offhand way in which it was delivered. "Have you seen Frost? We were supposed to engage in small arms practice tonight."

"Hmm?" He looked up from whatever held his attention so thoroughly on the screen. "Oh, no gunplay tonight, Vivian darling. Gilles' little circle of friends has finally gathered itself." He gestured at his screen, and chuckled. "Soon these wolves will try to remove our little lamb's clothing, and what do you think they will find underneath?"

 _Preferably little lamb guts._ Vivian came around to look at the screen. Agent Walker sat front and center, framed in some long-distance lens somewhere. Frost, watching and waiting, as always. Her father, eagerly anticipating the results of his endless machinations. His version of fun.

His.

He droned on, naming names, pointing out soon-to-be-dead enemies, but she heard none of it.

* * *

If the beautiful blonde in the snug dress found anything amiss in the many cars that followed them into her paramour's driveway, she didn't show it. "Gilles?"

"My dove, these are some friends of mine. We rarely gather, but tonight we have decided to do so, in your honor." He bowed.

Sarah blushed, trying to project a sense of false modesty.

"Tonight," Gilles continued, "We will open my special room, to show you all the delights contained inside." Not that they would be delights for her.

"Now you've got me all excited," said Sarah, looking around. "I've been dying to know what's in there."

The onlookers laughed.

Gilles offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it. "We shall."

As the procession made its way downstairs, to the heavy timber-and-iron door that Gilles always kept locked, servants scurried for higher ground. The Master's party paused at the door, as Gilles produced a large key and turned the ancient lock. "After you, my dear."

The other guests crowded into the room behind Sarah, and Gilles closed the door himself, its sound of 'doom' as it closed signaling the beginning of his ritual.

"Gilles?" Sarah said nervously, staring at the implements scattered about. "What's all this…stuff?" She pointed at a low platform along the far wall, with an armed man standing on it. "Who's that?"

"That's the one servant of mine you've never seen. His name is Helmut." Gilles smiled. "Go to him, my dear, he will prepare you."

Sarah shrank back. "Prepare me for what? I don't want to go up there."

Gilles put a reassuring hand on her back. "Really, my dear, I think it would be best if you simply _did what you were told!"_ He shoved her hard, and she stumbled over the low steps. Helmut gripped her hair and pulled her up onto the stage, shrieking.

One of the guests handed Gilles a glass of wine. He wet his lips with a sip. "You will begin by removing your gown."

"Sweetie?"

" _Now!"_

The beauty queen, the strutting diva, was beginning to realize the falseness of her power over men. Her hands crossed in front of her, scant protection. "In front of everybody?" she asked in a small voice.

The guests laughed. Gilles smiled. "Helmut will help you, if you like."

Helmut pulled out a knife.

Sarah shrank back, and unzipped her gown, stepping out of the crumpled folds in her underwear. Her hands drifted back to cover herself.

Helmut put the knife away and picked up the gown, hanging it carefully on a small rack.

"Next, your shoes," said Gilles, sipping his wine.

She stepped out of her heels, suddenly so much smaller, and Helmut put them on a shelf next to the dress.

Gilles turned to his guests. "What say you? Necklace or bracelet?"

The assembled onlookers voted for the necklace. Gilles turned to Sarah and raised an expectant brow. Sarah reached up and unclasped the jewelry. Bringing her hands down, she held them out imploringly. "Gilles, please…"

"Give it to Helmut, you little trollop. _Now!_ "

Helmut reached for the necklace, and Sarah spun. Looping the necklace around his neck, her spin pulled the strangling wire viciously tight, the way that it would stay for the rest of his short, short life. A faithful servant to the last, even as he died he covered the gun, exposing the knife. Sarah threw it, and the guard by the door fell, making sure it would stay closed for her. The guests could not get away and their own guards could not get any closer, not that any of them had time to try. Sarah wheeled and grabbed her shoes, snapping off the heels. With their steel cores they were no less deadly than any of her knives, and then the last two guards were down.

Helmut was faithful unto death, but no further, and he didn't resist as Sarah took his gun. With that weapon she was surprisingly less accurate. The bullet for Gilles bounced off his belt buckle, shattering up into his belly in several jagged pieces. Not everyone had heavy buckles like his, but they all had ribs, pelvises, spines, which did pretty much the same job, only from the inside.

Someone tapped on the door, lightly.

Sarah stepped off the platform, walking barefoot and almost naked through the writhing mob. She pushed the dead guard to one side and opened the door for Frost.

Volkoff's lieutenant made no move to come in. "Ready?"

Sarah's face was a mask. She turned like a woman in a dream. "Mm-hmm." She walked back to Gilles, fiddling with her bracelet, popping off one of the beads.

"Gilles?" She knelt and looked into his eyes, grabbing his hair to make sure she had his attention. "I have a message for you from Alexei Volkoff." She shoved the bead in his mouth, down his throat. He retched and she pulled her fingers back before he could close his mouth. "Apology accepted."

She stood and turned back to Frost. "How long?"

"Ten seconds once it hits his stomach."

"Plenty of time." She mounted the platform, got her dress, and walked back, popping and crushing beads as she went. Once exposed the air, the contents would explode after a few seconds. If exposed to stomach acid, they would explode _more_.

She pulled the heavy door shut and donned her dress. "Satisfied?"

Frost's satisfaction wasn't the issue, and her face showed it. " _Alexei_ will be pleased at your attention to detail." She pulled up the zipper.

Sarah shrugged the compliment off. "Which one do you think will go off first?"

Something went _crump!_ on the other side of the door.

"Does it matter?" asked Frost, walking away.

* * *

Carina watched as smoke started to billow from the upper floors, followed by flames. _That's my Sarah._

* * *

Sarah anticipated trouble exiting the mansion, but Frost had already had a word with the bodyguards, and they were gone in search of new employment. The less-than-loyal servants scurried about, busier than ever, stripping the house of all the valuables they could carry. They hadn't looked Sarah in the face before, and they didn't now.

Frost's car was nowhere near the house, which was good, since the servants were stealing all the cars. They sat for a moment, watching the mansion burn. "Good work," said Frost.

"Thank you, said Sarah.

"Let me see your arm."

Sarah looked down, A drop of bleed had somehow managed to make its way to her wrist. She held it out.

Frost wiped up the drop with a tissue. "There," she said. "All better."

* * *

Prague, week seven…

Chuck sat alone at his table, eating his breakfast. He didn't look up, what was the point. It was like High School all over again, except he had Morgan to sit with then.

Someone thumped a tray down across from him and that got his attention. "You don't mind sitting at the 'fat kid' table, Casey?"

"I'm NSA, what do I care what a bunch of CIA snotnoses think?" Casey added some salt to his plain oatmeal. "Look around you, Agent Charles. You're the Olympic athlete in a room full of fat kids. They're all just waiting for you to fail, probably got a pool going."

"How much are _you_ in for?"

"Nothing." Casey spooned up a bit of glop and sucked it down. "You've been failing steadily since you got here."

Chuck didn't fail at keeping his face straight, his voice low. "That's ridiculous. They haven't thrown anything difficult at me since the second week."

Spoon hit bowl, the way Casey wished he could whack his asset upside the head. "Do you know what the whole point of training is, Charles?"

Chuck held up a piece of overcooked bacon. "I hope it's more than this."

Casey crushed it. "It's to fail. You fail, practice and fail some more, until you succeed. You haven't been failing at any of the scenarios, but you've sure as hell been failing at the training."

"Like it's my fault these scenarios are so easy."

"They're not easy, you're missing the point."

"What was the point of Yuri?" His most recent nemesis. Hadn't seen him around in a while, though.

No reason not to tell him. They'd already exercised the Bartowski option. Again. "To put you in a position where you'd have to shoot your way out."

"I've shot people."

"In the foot, to save someone else, not just yourself," said Casey. "Or with a tranq gun. Nothing that'll leave a mark."

"I don't want to leave a mark!"

"Well someday you're gonna have to, Bar- _Charles_ , and it's best you do it here," Casey gestured at the hall around them. "My daughter got her first kill and threw up in the middle of an enemy compound. She got lucky. That's not a good place for it."

Chuck picked up his juice. "How is Alex, by the way?"  
"She's doing good, thanks. Aced her driving skills course."

"Excellent. Pass along my congratulations, please."

Casey smiled. "I will, thanks." Smile turned to snarl. "Get your head in the game, Charles." He spooned up some more glop, sat masticating thoughtfully. "It'll only be worse for _you_."

"Why me? Won't the…you know…?" Chuck made a circle in the air around his head.

"That's my point, Charles. When you do finally learn the facts of life, you're good enough that you'll be up against fifty opponents, not just one. Against one guy, maybe you can guarantee a wound instead of a kill, but against fifty?" Casey shook his head. "And you won't know which ones, either, so it may as well be all of them. Good luck sleeping after _that_ day."

Sarah didn't have many nightmares anymore but the ones she did have left them both shaken, and she said they used to be worse. Chuck put his glass down. "So what's the play?"

"Don't worry," said Casey, with an evil little smile. "I have a plan."


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N** I always saw S3 as being a story of Shakespearean depth and power, but without a Shakespeare to write it. Many times in the writing of these chapters I've found myself referencing the Bard, but nowhere as thoroughly as here, where I took the Lady Macbeth scene and paraphrased it for Frost and Sarah.

* * *

The door opened quickly, and a hand flipped the light switch before its owner, John Casey in this case, had even come entirely through the doorway. He caught a faceful of pillow and a kick to the chest. Pinned against the wall with an arm against his throat, he pulled the pillow from his face to see Chuck, blinking in the light as he became aware of what he was doing. Casey grunted his approval. "Good, you're up."

Chuck backed off. "Huh?"

"Get it in gear, Bartowski, we've got a mission."

"I'm in training."

"Not tonight you're not. One of ours was captured and we finally got a hit on her location. You and I are the closest grown-ups."

Chuck grabbed his go-bag, he'd change on the way.

* * *

In the car, Chuck unzipped his bag.

"Change in the back, Bartowski," said Casey, eyes on the road. "It's bad enough I have to see your scrawny self on the track every day."

Chuck zipped the bag and dropped the seat. "You're absolutely right, Casey." He pushed against the floor and slid backwards into the back seat. "And besides, I did promise Sarah that she would be the only woman to ever see me naked."

Casey started to turn his head. "You didn't just say that…"

"A little privacy, if you don't mind," said Chuck. "Indulge your curiosity about man-parts some other time."

Casey snapped his head forward. "If I wanted to see little-boy-parts, Bartowski, I might look at you. To see man-parts, I'd look in a mirror."

"Oh, did you finally have that operation you were talking about?"

Casey ground his teeth together. He didn't have a snappy comeback for that one. _Damn, but the kid learned fast!_

"Hey, that's one for me," said Chuck into his mentor's silence.

"Oh, sorry to hear that, Chuck," said Casey. "Most boys your age have two."

"And he hits a home run!"

 _Nuts!_ The only thing worse than losing to Chuck was winning because he let you. "Shut up," said Casey. "Better yet, study these." He threw some papers in the back like discarded coffee cups. "We got some overheads, and a couple of commercial shots of the property. Plan your entry, you're going in alone."

Playtime was over, having served its purpose. Chuck got down to business. It really _was_ just the two of them, with the life of another agent on the line.

* * *

"Approaching the wall now."

Casey scanned the front fortification with his NV scope. "I don't see you."

"The back wall."

That's what you get for not reviewing the plan of someone who makes a career out of finding non-obvious solutions to obvious problems. "The back wall's six feet higher than the front wall, idiot," Casey fumed. "Didn't you see the slope? Why are you going back there?"

"Because it's six feet higher than the front wall, Dirt–um, Casey. Fewer guards."

"No need for guards, plus did you perhaps forget we didn't bring any grappling–" Casey checked the focus. "What the hell are you doing?"

"They're called stilts, Casey. They cleared the lower slope back to the woods but not into the woods. Wasn't hard to find branches the right height."

"Bartowski, do you even _consider_ doing things the normal way?"

"Oh, I consider it Casey," said Chuck. "I just don't do it. Now silence please. The ground is beginning to rise here and I need to focus. I've never stilt-walked before."

 _He's never…_ Casey maintained radio silence, whacking his head against the window.

"I'm up," said Chuck softly.

Casey scanned. "No visual."

"I'm behind the house. I'll circle around for entry."

"There's a guard coming around your way."

The radio tapped twice.

A few moments later Casey saw Chuck coming around the corner. "You take him out?"

One tap.

"Good." When they didn't know the schedule, it was better to let the enemy go on thinking they hadn't been penetrated, than leave a body behind and let them know they had been.

Within seconds Chuck was gone from sight, and Casey put his scope down.

"No servants around," said Chuck quietly. "I hear something. Looking for a way downstairs."

"Why downstairs?" asked Casey.

"Better soundproofing. I'd hear more if they were upstairs."

"Probably why there are no servants where you are."

Chuck tapped twice, no need for a verbal response to that. A few moments later, he spoke again. "Entrance to the lower level in the billiards room. Going down now."

* * *

Washington DC, seven time zones away…

"Good evening, General," said Morgan. "Mr. Montgomery." He nodded politely to regular customers, as always. "Is this a late lunch or an early dinner?"

"I'm still on duty, Mr. Grimes," said General Beckman.

Morgan turned to his number one guy. "Sam, make sure the secure table is prepared right away."

"It's ready now, Mr. Grimes."

Morgan smiled. "Where would I be without you, Sam? This way, General." He led them to their table personally.

"You run a very efficient restaurant, Mr. Grimes," said the General approvingly, as Roan pulled out the chair for her.

Morgan pulled out a chair for Roan. "It's like I always say, General, a respected staff, is a loyal and efficient staff." He leaned in close, and dropped his voice. "I have a directive from the manager about your phone…"

She sighed, appreciating his discretion. "I will maintain a decorous presence in your establishment at all times, Mr. Grimes."

"Thank you, General." He stood up. "And here is your server, so I will leave you in her capable hands. Enjoy your meal."

* * *

The stairs were wide, and carpeted. Clearly the place hadn't been built with torture chambers in the design, otherwise the floors would be stone and the guards would have a clear view of the only entrance. The sound was still louder down below than up above. Any guards down here would have to be pretty nasty customers to be willing to listen to that, so he prepared to treat them accordingly.

He found them before they found him, simply by looking around corners with his dental mirror at ground level, while they were watching for him to come blundering around the corner at eye level. Idiots. He took them out with a couple of well-aimed tranq darts, and locked them in a closet.

Wow, that door was a stunner, it practically defined low-tech. No card-keys or lockpicks for this one, maybe a crowbar, or a screwdriver.

 _Wait a minute._ This was a prison door. The hinges were on the outside.

No prison door would have a keyhole on the inside, so either a) the guys inside really trusted the guards outside to let them out again, or b) the door was open. He tugged the handle, expecting some kind of inner latch.

It pulled open. The hinges didn't even squeak.

The room within was done up in an ancient style but with modern tools. The 'torches' were low-intensity bulbs, with the flickering simulated somehow. The place smelled more of new wood than of old blood.

The man on the platform wore a mask, the men crowded around on the floor didn't, but they weren't looking his way. They watched as the hooded man lifted his whip and slammed it down again, with a sound of leather on flesh. All Chuck could see of the woman were her arms, her wrists cuffed and chained to the ceiling. The chains were taut, clearly carrying her whole weight. She groaned, too weak even to scream.

The hooded man stepped forward and grabbed her brown hair, pulling her head up. She was blindfolded but not gagged. Hard to get a victim to spill their guts if they couldn't speak. He growled in her ear, "Thank you for resisting, Agent Rizzo."

Chuck aimed and fired before he knew it, wiping out the crowd of onlookers in one burst. The gun clicked empty.

The man on the stage heard the click and saw his audience fall. He dropped his whip and went for his gun.

Chuck pushed the door behind him fully open, blinding the man with the bright light from the hall outside. He crouched and ran, the other man's poorly-aimed shot going wild. Chuck charged across the floor and up the steps, body-slamming the hooded man against the stone wall. The torturer slip down the wall, limp, and Chuck let him fall.

"Agent Rizzo?" he said gently. She hung limp in her chains, her back striped red and pink. She hadn't been stripped, exactly, but her blouse had definitely seen better days. Chuck wrapped a long arm around her waist, supporting her as he fumbled with the straps. "Agent Rizzo. I'm Agent Charles."

"Charles?" she asked softly.

One down. "Yes, that's me." He switched to her other side.

"Get me out of here, Charles."

Not very polite for a rescuee but he could forgive her for that. "Working on it."

The strap came loose and her arm swung down. "Thank–ah!"

"Sorry." He looked down at her back, where he'd lightly brushed up against it. "If I carry you it's going to hurt."

She moved her feet under her, taking some of the weight off his arm. "I can walk."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Give me a gun."

"You don't need it, the bad guys are all down."

"Give me a gun, Charles."

He reached around for his holdout. "You know I shouldn't, you've been traumatized."

" _Just give me the goddamned gun!"_

He pulled it out, handed it over. "Fine, jeez, here." He let her stand on her own, and went to the stairs. "Let me give you a hand down."

She aimed the gun at him and pulled the trigger. The gun went _bang!_

Chuck didn't fall.

She looked at the pistol in her hand. The weight felt right for live rounds, not blanks. "What the hell?"

"Oh come on," said Chuck. "You couldn't even wait five minutes to stab me in the back?"

She threw the gun at him, grabbing a knife from the tray as he dodged. "Now there's an idea."

* * *

The General's phone trilled. She put down her fork and knife deliberately, taking a deep breath before she picked it up. "Hello?"

* * *

Casey entered the torture chamber, taking in the sight of all the wreckage. _That didn't take long._ Still, it was a decent scenario, they'd probably rebuild. He looked around for whoever was still standing.

Chuck had Rizzo pinned against a wall, arm twisted behind her back. She couldn't use the knife, but he couldn't let go.

"Stalemate," said Rizzo.

"I can see that," said Casey. "It's over."

Chuck stepped back immediately, releasing her arm, as the unconscious bad guys suddenly turned into conscious good guys. One of them handed Rizzo a fresh shirt. Chuck and Casey both turned, to find themselves side-by-side, a screen to give Agent Rizzo some privacy as she changed.

Casey pulled out his phone, pressed speed dial. "Good evening, General…the scenario is finished..yes, ma'am, I'm giving him a solid B…yes, ma'am, have a good evening."

"A 'B', Casey?"

"Agent Rizzo, if you're ready? Agent Charles, perhaps we can take this to the briefing room down the hall while _everybody else–_ " Casey swung his gaze over all the plebes listening in "–gets to work restoring the room." Suddenly everyone was very busy. "Agents?"

After they left, the plebes high-fived themselves. Agent Charles got a 'B'. Yeah! And the most burning question of all: who won the pool?

* * *

Washington DC, in a secure dining room…

"Good news, General?"

"Mr. Grimes, I am not in the habit of passing out classified information to lower management," said Beckman. "However, you will be pleased to know that your best friend is finally beginning to make some progress in his training."

"Yes," said Morgan. "Thank you, General. Your dessert is on me."

* * *

In the briefing room…

"What have you got for us, Rizzo?"

"Uh, Casey, what about the debrief?" _A 'B'? A Bartowski never gets a 'B'._

"What about it, moron? You couldn't hit a girl. That's not news. We've got bigger fish to fry than why you're not dead."

"He should be," said Rizzo. "He gave me a loaded gun, and I shot him at point-blank range."

Casey frowned at Chuck. "You gave a possibly-turned hostage a loaded weapon?"

"She was well past the time limit for possible Stockholm Syndrome, and anyway you never said I could trust her, so no."

Rizzo's face said _Yes_. "I think I can tell the difference between real bullets and blanks."

"I took the bullets out of real cartridges, they still weigh more. Technically blanks, I suppose…"

"A tranq pistol and a holdout full of blanks…" muttered Casey.

"It's a variation on the Morgan."

Casey covered his eyes.

"What's the Morgan?" asked Rizzo.

"It's a defensive posture," said Casey, before Chuck could get into the true history. "Properly executed, no attack stands a chance. It even has a couple of kills to its credit."

"A defense?"

"Please don't ask. Just…show us what you got."

Rizzo recognized a stonewall when she heard one. "Fine." She pulled a stick from her pocket, and plugged it into the computer station. On the projection screen, a scene from a nightclub appeared, a beautiful blonde in the center, a number of male faces scattered around her, circled in red.

"Who are the men?" asked Chuck.

"Criminals and sexual predators," said Rizzo. "They were recently killed as a group."

Casey nodded. "The scenario you just did is based on the remains."

"Remains?"

"Sarah was very thorough."

Rizzo looked back and forth. "You know Agent Walker?"

"It's Agent Charles, now," said Chuck, with a smile.

Rizzo flinched. Her face hardened, lips white. "That bitch."

"Be careful how you talk about my wife." Chuck turned his back on her, looked at the photo.

"I'm talking about Carina," said Rizzo. "She could at least have warned me what kind of a rat's nest she was sending me into. 'Little favor' my ass."

"Don't mind him," said Casey. "She went undercover, this is the first he's seen of her since. Why you?"

Rizzo looked over at Chuck, then back to Casey. "You'll have to ask Carina, if I don't kill her first. I'm out of here. I'll send you my observations."

Casey didn't try to stop her. He went and stood by his partner's shoulder instead. "Three weeks," he said, referring to the timestamp.

Chuck's voice was a whisper. "Why doesn't she call?"

* * *

Volokoff's compound, week five…

She woke to the sound of an alert. "Frost here."

"We have movement in the pipes," said a guard. "You told us to alert you at any unusual sign."

"You have done well," said Frost. "Tell me your name, and the location of the move…motion."

A short time later, Frost was fully dressed, walking into the guest wing. The building was more than usually quiet. Alexei had taken his daughter off to the theater, to see his favorite play, whose name, like his own, was never uttered by those with any knowledge. He was a sponsor, so they performed it often, and he'd seen it every time, and of course she'd had to be there with him. She hated that play, so she was more than happy to miss it tonight.

The light shone under the door. She knocked. "Agent Walker?"

She didn't hear a reply, but she heard something else, the sound of water. The tub was running at full strength, and had been for the last quarter hour.

She opened the door. The light she'd left on after she'd poured Agent Walker into bed was still lit, but the bed was unoccupied. Frost went to the bathroom.

Sarah knelt in her underwear, on the floor by the tub. In the dark, the only light coming from outside. She held her hands into the tub, under the water, scrubbing and clawing at them frantically. "It doesn't come off," she whispered. "It doesn't come off. It doesn't come off."

To leave now, or even to keep silent, would be to seal her own damnation. Frost took a step into the room, but Sarah didn't look up, didn't see her. _Eyes open, senses shut._ "What doesn't come off?"

"It doesn't come off. It doesn't come off," said Sarah. "So much blood. It doesn't come off."

 _She hears, at least._ Frost knelt by Sarah, spoke softly into her ear. "You're hurting yourself. They're as clean as they ever will be." So much blood on both their hands, and no, it didn't come off.

Sarah kept rubbing. "It doesn't come off." Tears fell, her whole body started to shudder in Frost's arms.

"You're a professional, this is the job," said Frost. "We do what must be done, no matter what anyone else may think." She'd stood alone for twenty years. She feared age, and time, not weakness.

"I need him. I can't touch him. There's so much blood. So much blood."

Chuck. Husband and son. A good man in a foul, foul business, a business both mother and wife had moved Heaven and Earth to keep him out of, and failed.

Frost reached out, covered Sarah's hands with her own under the hot water. "If I could take it from you I would, but some stains just don't wash off." And her hands were fouler than Sarah's could ever be.

Sarah seized Frost's hands under the water in a painfully tight grip. "No! No!"

Frost had long since resigned herself to her fate, but she didn't want company, and Sarah didn't want solitude. Sympathy wasn't what Sarah needed tonight, or ever. Frost needed to play a different role for her daughter-in-law's sake. Hopefully she knew the right words for it. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

"Please…"

Frost stroked Sarah's hair, unused to comfort, or comforting. "I can't help you, souls are beyond me." _I barely have one myself_. She closed her eyes. "We'll get you back to him, and he _will_ forgive you, I know he will." _He might even forgive_ me _, someday._ "Have faith in him, if not in yourself."

Sarah collapsed in her arms, beyond her own strength to stay upright. Frost held her more tightly, Sarah's head against her chest. _Lub. Dub._

So familiar, so painful. It had been so long since she'd held anyone this way, allowed anyone to get so close. And a daughter, to boot. _How very fitting._

Slowly Sarah's breathing eased toward sleep.

Frost looked down on her with something like tenderness, or sorrow. She stroked Sarah's unnaturally black hair, deep in thought, and in silence.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N** The timing for all of this was the biggest headache writing it. That photo Carina took of Sarah in the club with Gilles was a trap that had to be triggered quickly, to bring Quinn into play early, which set up the next episode, where I rewrote CAT Squad, as well as linking to the next season where Quinn truly belonged. This in addition to all the other elements of the story that had to be juggled to keep the timing straight.

* * *

Prague, week eight…

"A 'B', Casey?"

"It should have been lower, but I gave you extra points for the stilts," said Casey, behind the wheel as they drove back to the facility. "Face it, Bartowski, you screwed up. Once her friends woke up they'd have had a new playmate, only this time the torture would have been real."

"I knew you had my back," said Chuck, rather weakly.

 _On a mission yes, in a scenario no._ So technically Chuck was in the clear, since Casey had split the difference on this one. Fortunately, he was more interested in the lesson than the grade, and Chuck seemed to have learned the lesson. "Sarah knew Bryce had her back, and look how that turned out." Blunt, but it got the point across. "And what was the deal with the blanks, anyway?"

"The fastest way I could think of, to get her to betray me if she was going to."

"And what if she wasn't going to, Chuck?" Casey wouldn't call him moron, idiot, or numb-nuts in private unless he meant it. "Or if she was playing a longer game?"

"If I made it to the door alive I would have told her. Then I would have taken the gun back and reloaded with the real clip I have here in my pocket."

"Rub her face in it, why don't you?"

"Plus, with my gun in her hand she'd also be less likely to stop and search any of the bad guys for their weapons," continued Chuck. "She couldn't be trusted, Casey. As an agent herself, she'd know that."

"You know you've got crap all over your coat?" said Casey. He hadn't managed to poke any new holes in Chuck's strategy so far, but that didn't mean he wouldn't think about it some more. Save that snark for later.

Chuck looked down. The outside of his jacket was smeared with something soft and gooey, in various shades of red. He touched it, examining the glob on his finger. "Great. Lipstick on my collar from a girl who was trying to kill me." The marks on Agent Rizzo's back had been drawn on.

Casey laughed, in that vaguely sinister way he had. "At least Sarah might forgive you for _that_."

Chuck crushed the blob, rubbing his fingers together. "I'd let her catch me and Agent Rizzo in bed if it just meant she was there to catch me."

"I'm sure the last minute of your life would be very happy."

Chuck wiped his fingers on his coat. "Tell me about Agent Rizzo."

"Sorry, sport, can't help you." And didn't Casey sound thrilled about _that_. "Carina contacted me by back-channels and asked me to set up a meet that wouldn't look like a meet. That scenario seemed like the best place."

 _And she had to trick the messenger into delivering._ "Why so secret?" _What message?_

"I don't know," said Casey. "I hope Rizzo leaves Carina alive, she's thrown us more questions than answers so far. Keep that picture under your hat."

"Picture?" asked Chuck, recalling Sarah's image in the club from his almost-perfect memory. "What picture?"

* * *

Washington DC, week six…

The first thing Hannah did when she received the photo from Carina was make a copy for the permanent record. The second thing was to make a copy for the dataset inbox.

Then she put another copy in the facial recognition app and wait for a report. Well, not _wait_ , exactly, there was always stuff to be done, so it was quite a while before she realized she still hadn't gotten any output.

So she put it in again.

And waited some more.

* * *

Somewhere in Russia, in a place overlooking the approaches to Volkoff's compound that wasn't nearly as good as the place she'd been at before, but you don't return to an overlook that you know the enemy knows you know about, still week six…

"Okay, Bedrock, thanks for trying." Carina wasn't in Russia to keep a 24/7 watch on the compound, they'd need a team for that. She was there to be hands if they needed them, and to her mind this qualified. Her hands removed the transponder from her ear, cutting her connection to Hannah. Her hands pulled out a burner cell, and entered a number from memory. "Z? It's me. You know that old business I sent you earlier?...Facial Rec ate it…Yeah, that's right, ate it…No, our girl's not stupid, she put it under a rock. Can you do me a little favor and play courier? I'll call my guy in Prague to set up a new skin for you…no, it's not a scam. I'm stuck on overwatch, I got a bounceback from Amy and I have no one else to ask...Thanks, Z." Carina ended the call and immediately placed the second. "Dirtnap, I got something for you…"

* * *

Volkoff's compound, still week six…

"Ah, Vivian, good morning, and what a splendid morning it is," said Alexei, as his daughter joined him at breakfast. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you."

Vivian was glad to see him so happy. Last evening had been a marvelous time for both of them, but nothing to merit such effusive praise. "Congratulate _me_ , Father? Whatever for?" She sat opposite, and a servant put her usual fruit plate before her. She speared an out-of-season strawberry and put it in her mouth.

"Agent Walker completed her task last night," said Alexei.

Vivian chewed the fruit into flavorless mush, and swallowed. "Did she?" She put her fork down.

"Yes, and by all accounts it was a spectacular success," said Alexei. "Gilles and all of his cronies dead, his house pillaged, and razed to the ground. More than I could ever have hoped for. Miss Walker truly is the CIA's best!"

"Well, it certainly sounds like you got your money's worth," muttered Vivian.

"Oh, mere money would never motivate an agent of Miss Walker's caliber to such heights," said Volkoff dismissively. "Was it money that motivated you to suggest we manipulate Gilles' cronies to gather themselves around her? No, that was inspiration, my dear, that was genius. Truly you are a Volkoff."

Vivian stabbed a hideously expensive slice of peach. _Take that, Sarah Walker!_

"Yes," said her father, "Eat up, eat up. We must go over the reports together."

* * *

A little later, same day, same place…

She woke, her head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. She couldn't have had too much to drink last night. Without a bartender to make sure she was sent nothing but colored water, she'd rationed her intake carefully, so the alcodote pills she took could handle it. Even so she remembered Frost having to help her back to bed afterward. And then…

And then…

And now she was here. She sat up, suddenly cold as the room's air hit her body, clad only in last night's lingerie. She never wore stuff like this to bed, Chuck couldn't–

Her breath caught. Chuck wouldn't–

 _He will, Sarah_ , said the voice in her head, and she shivered.

He had to. She didn't know _what_ he had to do, but he had to do it.

She flung off the covers, unable to keep still. She ran for the bath, but drew up short at the sight of the gleaming tile, and the tub, suddenly conscious of how she reeked of bloo–of sweat. She used the facilities and went to wash her hands in the sink. The water came out rust-colored and she shut it off. She eyed the tub again but couldn't even think about using it. She tried the sink again and this time the water ran clear.

She grabbed a small cloth and bathed standing up. Her arms stung from numerous scratches. She couldn't remember Gilles scratching her last night.

She couldn't remember…the cotton muffled her thoughts, and she stopped trying to dig through it. Last night was last night. Done. In the past.

* * *

A tap on the door. "Come in."

The door opened, and Frost entered. "Miss Walker," she said, "Are you ready? Alexei would like his moment."

Sarah twitched her top straight, looking at herself in the mirror. The ensemble suited her, all blacks and grays, a costume of smoke and shadow. Only her eyes were wrong. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

The doors opened on the sound of applause. Alexei stood behind his desk, as usual, a broad smile on his face, hands clapping with an almost painful vigor. His daughter stood to one side, her face set, her decorous applause unheard under Alexei's deafening enthusiasm.

"Miss Walker, _bravissime,_ " he called out, as if the people in the other wings needed to hear him.

For a second Sarah felt an obscure and absurd impulse to curtsy.

Alexei stopped his clapping, and Vivian immediately dropped her hands as well. "My daughter and I were just going over the reports of your work, and I must say, I am impressed."

"We did supply the means, Father," said Vivian.

He waved that away. "All the tools in the world are worthless without the proper craftsman, and Agent Sarah Walker is more than just a craftsman, she is an _artist_ of death." Frost winced at the accolade, but no one was looking at her. "Truly I am in your debt."

Sarah had learned to beware of Volkoff's language of debts and obligations. "I was paying off a debt already."

"Indeed you were, Agent Walker," said Volkoff. "But I can only claim Gilles himself against you. When I sent you into his den of iniquity I had no idea he'd gather the rest of his pack." Volkoff gestured at a screen full of pictures, partially-remembered faces with large red Xs covering them. "You have done me, and the female population of Europe, a great service. The House of Volkoff is at your command."

"I missed one, I see."

"Hmm?" Volkoff looked behind him, at the screen with the faces. "Oh, yes, him." Volkoff pressed some keys, and the marked faces dropped from the screen while the one grew larger. "No surprises there, I'm afraid. Not all of Gilles' business associates shared his personal proclivities. This one removed himself and his operations to South America some time ago. Last night's event wouldn't have lured him back."

"His name is Augusto Gaez."

Volkoff called up some documents, as if he needed them to know the name of this one remaining enemy. "Yes, yes it is." He looked up, the documents fading as Gaez' face moved to a larger screen. "You know him?"

"He was the target of a long-term mission, years ago," said Sarah, nostrils flaring. "He always seemed to know our next move."

Volkoff sank back into his chair. "You had a mole?" he asked, sounding sympathetic.

A frown joined the nostril-flare. "I could never prove it. I found a hidden transmitter in my teammate's boot, but she denied knowing anything about it, and a lie-detector test backed her up." Sarah dropped her gaze to the floor. "We didn't work so well together after that."

"So you could never get him." The image of Gaez winked out.

"No."

"That must…" Volkoff shook himself " _Sting_." He held up a finger. "The one that got away, the one you could never catch."

She'd lost friends over it. "You have no idea."

"Actually I do, Miss Walker," said Volkoff. "I've had to learn to play the long game myself, a time or two. Our late, unlamented friend Gilles, for example." Volkoff knew when to stop talking.

"I got Gilles for you," said Sarah. "Can you get Gaez for me?"

"After what you did to my man?" Volkoff slashed a hand in front of his eyes, and shook his head. "The rest of them would rather shoot you than help you."

"Can you help _me_ get him?"

"Logistics and support?" Volkoff looked at Vivian, then back at Sarah. "That I can do, but after that we're quits."

"Absolutely."

He leaned forward in his chair. "I expect we should be able to bring it off with approximately two to three weeks lead time. Thanks to Google Maps I don't even need to move my satellite!"

Sarah nodded. "Sounds right."

He stood up, gesturing to his main lieutenant. "You will work with Frost for those weeks, to develop your plan of attack, train at my facilities, and I will supply the materiel to make it happen. I will give you the opportunity, but success will be in your hands alone. You will not return here."

Make her own way from Brazil? Piece of cake. "Agreed." Home! Home to her man, her heart. Her soul.

"Done." Volkoff stepped forward, and they shook on the deal.

"Father?"

"Yes, Vivian?"

"Your cozy arrangement doesn't include room or board. If we are now working for Miss Walker, how is she prepared to compensate us for her stay here? This isn't a hotel."

He pounded the desk with his fist. "Blast!"

* * *

Vivian listened to her heart beating, the loudest noise in the room. Her father sat at the desk, earnestly discussing the details of Miss Walker's stay, now that she'd 'reminded' him of that little detail. Played her part in his game. Again.

 _Will no one rid me of this miserable Agent?_

Frost shifted her position and Vivian looked her way. A small smile came to her lips, quickly crushed. "Father?" she said, with no small amount of genuine pain in her voice. "If you'll excuse me?"

She was already in motion, almost out the door before she heard his quick command. "Frost." Vivian slowed her pace. It wouldn't do to lose her prey.

"Miss Volkoff," said Frost, coming up behind her to the proper distance. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Frost," said Vivian. "Just a bit…nauseated, that's all."

"What have you eaten today?"

Typical. Her first thought is enemy action. "No, no," said Vivian, walking faster now that she had her target in tow. "Nothing like that. I was just… watching them in there, thinking how...how _cozy_ they looked, and then you moved. In that instant I knew what Sarah Walker was going to be, and I thought, is this the way he rewards thirty years of service?"

Frost made a slight noise, and Vivian glanced back, to see a slight smile on her face. "What do you find so amusing?"

"Just that I had already come to the same conclusion about you," said Frost with her usual candor.

"Sarah Walker could never take _my_ place, that's absurd!"

"Of course it is," said Frost. "I meant that _you_ had already displaced _me_."

"I could never replace you, Frost," said Vivian, as they drew near the door to her suite. "Father is grooming me, as his heir. If anything my need for your services would be greater than ever."

Frost nodded. "You'll have them."

Vivian placed a hand on Frost's arm. "I can't afford to lose you to one of Father's whims."

"I'm not going anywhere." Frost smiled, something she rarely did.

Vivian drew back her arm, fumbling with the door, but eventually got it open. "Thank you, Frost. You may return to Father now."

Frost nodded her head again, the good servant. "Yes, ma'am."

Vivian closed the door and turned away. Her arms went up and she unclasped the necklace that held her greatest treasure, the glass eye her father had given her.

It was absurd, wasn't it? Wasn't it? He couldn't replace her.

Could he? He couldn't replace this eye, until...until suddenly he could. Hydra. Cut off one head and it grows another. Good for the hydra, not so good for the head that got cut off. Then what was it? Nothing. An empty, meaningless trinket.

 _Replace me? With her?_

She hurled the sphere to the ground, followed by a small statue, a bust of Shakespeare, and a three-volume, leather-bound set of his collected works.

She barely heard the knocking at her door over the rasping of her breath, the pounding of her heart. "What is it?" The screaming in her head.

"Miss Volkoff?" Frost's voice.

Blast and damn. How perfectly awful. Perfect and awful at the same time. Frost had to know, but if she knew then no one else would have to. "Come in."

Frost opened the door, and took in the sight of the small pile. She closed the door behind her, quickly.

"This must remain between us," said Vivian.

"It will, ma'am."

Vivian turned her back on it all. "Dispose of this trash, would you please?"

A box for the keepsakes. A broom and dustpan for the shattered eye. Wouldn't want to miss any of that. "Certainly."

* * *

Washington DC, week eight…

As Roan and Diane exited the restaurant, a young lady walked in, a young man in tow. Roan pulled the flower from his lapel and handed it to the scared-looking young man as he passed. With a casual gesture toward the young lady, he murmured, "Trust me, it's a classic."

As he courteously allowed Diane to settle into the limo first, he looked through the window, and saw the young lady smell the flower her date had unexpectedly given her, latched onto his arm. The poor boy still looked terrified, but there was only so much Roan could do at such short notice. "Ah, the follies of youth," he murmured, getting into the car.

"What follies?" said Beckman, looking in the window but seeing nothing unusual. "Whose youth?"

"All men are fools, when they are young," said Roan. "It's a defining characteristic."

"Were _we_ fools, Roan?"

Roan was nobody's fool. He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss. "If we were, there's no time like the present to learn wisdom." Especially not today of all days. "Just say the word, my flower."

She released his hand, and touched his cheek. "I think things are just getting interesting."

She looked happy, and relaxed, for the first time in weeks. He would have liked to think it was him, but he knew it was just the one phone call. "Ah, your favorite student, Mr. Charles." _I must remember to thank him._

She ran her fingers into Roan's hair. "My favorite student is right here with me. Mr. Charles is a distant second to you in every way."

Roan cleared his throat. "Not…every way, my darling."

"No?"

"Mr. Charles is by far the most unseduceable man I've ever known."

Her grip tightened in his hair. "And who's been seducing you, lately?"

"No one but you, my love," he said, wincing. "But I at least notice the attempt. Mrs. Charles fills his heart, his mind, so thoroughly he has no awareness of anyone else."

She relaxed her hand. "That's not good."

"No, it isn't. However, like me, he seems to learn best by doing. I have the perfect mission for him."

"Leave for Prague tomorrow."

"Yes, my General. And tonight?"

Diane Beckman kissed with the same take-no-prisoners style as she did everything else. "Tonight we're going to see about filling that pesky awareness of yours."


	45. True Calling

**A/N** Time for a variety of brilliant people to be brilliant.

* * *

Washington, week seven…

Devon came up to the bedroom door. "Babe, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but can we _not_ go out tonight?"

Ellie looked at her husband with dismay in the mirror, as she put her earrings on. "I thought you liked going out." Going out meant getting away, away from work. She wanted their together time to be Devon-time.

He reached out to touch her shoulders. "I like going out _with you_. But lately I'm getting the feeling that you aren't going out with me."

Ellie's face scrunched unattractively in confusion. "Honey?"

"Talk to me, El," said Devon.

She turned in his arms. "About what?"

"About whatever's bothering you? Is it Chuck?"

"No, he's in Prague," said Ellie, smiling. "Diane keeps me up to date. He's setting records over there."

"Then what is it? What are you working on?"

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his. "That's classified."

"I don't need to know the code, El," said Devon with a laugh. "I don't speak computer."

"Well I do and it isn't helping. Why would they build something to go in as a unit, and then build something else to take it out in pieces?"

He swayed side to side, just holding her. "Because it broke?"

She liked moving with him. "It's a program, honey, not an object. Even in its earliest stages of development, it was always just one thing."

Devon smiled. "Speaking of early stages of development…" He cupped her belly, bent to place a gentle kiss on the upper curve. "Hey there, little girl," he whispered, "Can you feel your mommy and daddy dancing?"

Suddenly, Ellie gasped in shock, completely still and eyes wide.

Devon stood up, looking at her in vast concern. "El?"

Ellie raised a hand, gesturing him to silence. Her breathing came faster, and a look of great peace and immense joy settled over her face. She grabbed his hair and plastered a kiss right on his lips. Being a heart surgeon, he was smart enough to kiss her back.

"I _love_ you," she growled in his ear when she was done. "I want you to remember something for me. Can you do that?"

"Anything for you, babe."

"Good," she said, kissing him again. "Remember the word 'polyzygotic'."

He pulled his head back in shock. "El? What? _Why?_ "

"Because I want you to take me to bed right now, and make me forget my own name."

 _Time to be awesome!_ He scooped her up, and turned around. "Anything for you, babe."

* * *

Prague, week eight…

They were more than halfway back to base when their watches started beeping simultaneously, a particular tone Chuck had never heard before. "What's that–?"

"Allcall," said Casey, pushing a button on the car.

The radio flipped over, to reveal a radar screen with two blinking lights, with a map overlay. The radar screen suddenly drew a wiggly line, tracing the shortest route by surface roads.

"Not good enough."

"Casey, we just passed an exit!"

"That would really help if we were headed in the other direction."

Chuck opened the glove compartment, pressing a yellow button. The windshield lit up with targeting lines, looking for a target.

"Bartowski?"

Chuck gauged their speed and selected a point many yards ahead, and pressed the red button.

"Ow!" yelled Casey, lifting his foot. "A little warning next time."

"Sorry."

The missile struck a section of the divider, separating the two sides of the road. Casey threw their vehicle into a controlled skid, angling it into the gap. The line on the map got a lot shorter.

"You must really want that 'A', Bartowski," grumbled Casey.

* * *

 _You must really want that 'A', Bartowski._ Chuck smiled.

Casey whacked him on the arm. "Charles! Head in the game!"

Chuck woke up and shrieked in surprise, his voice an octave higher than usual. _I'm sorry! I'll never blow up your highways again!_ He opened his eyes. They were stopped on the side of the road, the smoking wreckage of what was once a very fast car stinking and steaming in front of them. Another agent could be in there, and the thought chilled him, brought him fully awake.

Casey checked his load. "There's a sound I've missed. I like it better when you're trying to kill me."

Chuck checked his tranq pistol. "Next time you interrupt my beauty sleep maybe I will."

The old soldier's rule, 'sleep when you can'. Casey couldn't fault Chuck for nodding off, especially since it was his idea to wake Chuck up in the middle of the night for a surprise fake mission that got a surprise real mission suddenly tacked on. He tapped the pocket of Chuck's coat, where the spare magazine was. "Make sure you really load your real gun, Bartowski. That way if you die I'll have something to really kill myself with before Sarah finds out." He popped the door.

Chuck had changed his load long since, so he just followed.

Together they approached the burnt, crumpled wreckage. The allcall had been real, only the conveniently placed exit and ready-to-hand missile launcher were products of Chuck's imagination. And the map. A lot cooler than GPS.

"I smell gas," said Chuck. And other things. He looked down, but there wasn't any on the ground, just glittering pebbles.

"Bullet-holes all along this side," said Casey. Chuck stepped over the guard rail, mindful of his footing on the loose stones, and flashed his light along the side he could see. No bullet holes in the metal. "Probably punctured the tank, and spilled gas all over the road. The crash must have set it off." Casey flashed a light inside.

Chuck looked away, up the road, down the road, anywhere else. _Better you than me._ "Anybody in there?"

"Nope."

The passenger doors were pressed shut against the rail. "Passenger window is shattered. You think they got out?"

"I hope so." Casey's voice didn't put too much stock in the idea. He and Chuck flashed their lights across the embankment. "Where to start looking?"

"I'm right here," said a woman's voice.

Two flashlights moved over the same area. "Zondra?" asked Chuck, pretty sure he recognized the voice.

"Yeah, it's me."

"What the hell happened?" asked Casey.

"They shot up my car, dumb-ass, what do you think happened? I barely got out in time, hopefully they thought I was still inside when it blew. For a second there I thought maybe you were them, come back to finish the job, but it's been much too long for that."

"Nah, it's just us," said Casey. He heard discordant wailing in the distance. "Come on up and let's get out of here."

The bushes moved, but she didn't appear.

"Zondra?" called Chuck. "Are you all right?"

"You wouldn't happen to have any clothes, would you?"

* * *

Washington DC, same week seven as before, only now about ten rapturous hours later, really about two rapturous hours, and another eight of deep and restful sleep, which can often be the same thing…

Manoosh sat at his own table in the Manoosh-cave, whiling away the moments until the meeting looking over old recordings, trying to pair up the inner and outer worlds of one Charles Irving Bartowski. With the project stalled out, again, it was good to have a hobby to take the edge off.

The monitor chimed. Not Beckman.

"Hey, Manoosh," said Hannah, with a genuine smile. One of the few women to really appreciate him. Why did all the good ones have to be taken? "Are we the first ones here?"

"Yup," he said. "Afraid you're stuck with just me for now."

She frowned. "Now, Manoosh, what have I told you about that?"

He rolled his eyes in mock-irritation. "'Plenty of other people ready to do it for me'," he said in a sing-song tone.

"Better." She watched him as he worked, listening. "What's the music?"

"Chuck and I were working on a project, before all the craziness started," said Manoosh. "I was doing the sound, so I just kept going."

"It sounds nice. Can I borrow it? We still haven't decided on a playlist for the reception."

He smiled. So nice to be appreciated. "Yeah, sure."

Just then the General's chime sounded, and Manoosh scrambled to kill the music. "I'm glad you're both here," said Beckman when her image appeared. "We have a crisis, so I'll have to cut this meeting short."

"But General, Ellie's not here–"

"I know, she's running very late. But she had some good news, and knowing how I like to be the bearer of glad tidings she gave it to me to pass along to you."

 _Progress?_ Manoosh opened a document to take notes. "What's the news, General?"

Beckman picked up a piece of paper and read off of it. "Polyzygotic."

"What kind of news is that?"

"I expect you to tell me, Mr. Depak, as soon as may be. Hannah, stay on the line, we'll need your input…" Her image went out, and took Hannah's with it.

 _Great._ Manoosh shook his head as he saved all his files. _How do I even_ spell _that?_

* * *

Prague, week eight…

Zondra sat behind Casey in the back of the car, wearing Chuck's shirt, his coat's arms tied around her waist, as an impromptu sarong. She felt something bump against her knees and tapped the fabric. "Is this a fresh magazine in your pocket, Agent Charles, or were you just happy to see me?"

Chuck turned red.

"Looks like somebody was glad to see you back there, Rizzo" asked Casey. Someone had to save Chuck from the ladies. "And they weren't shooting blanks, either."

"Gee, thanks, Casey," muttered Chuck.

"Don't mention it. Okay, Charles, let's hear it. What happened back there?"

"Uh, hello," said Zondra, waving, trying to catch his eye in the mirror. "Eyewitness right behind you."

"I know," said Casey. "Agent Charles, report."

"Agent Rizzo was speeding in the left lane, which isn't really a killing offense anywhere but LA," said Chuck, his hands moving to illustrate the events he was describing. "The shooter had to come up on her right, and took out the front tire." The only bullet hole he'd seen on the right side was in the tire. "This forced her to slow, 'slow' being a relative term in this case, and pull right. Skid marks and the faint smell of burnt rubber indicate that the shooter pulled left and hit his brakes. As Agent Rizzo's car passed him on the right he shot it up with automatic weapon fire. She ducked down, lost control, and the car crashed and burst into flames from the punctured tank. Rizzo, however, shot out her passenger window, and as the car crashed jumped out. Lack of burnt hair says she got out before the explosion, but probably not by much, since she reeks of gasoline, and between you and me I'm not sure which smells worse."

"Hair, I'm thinking," said Casey.

"I'll go with hair, too, but my coat's still probably ruined." Chuck held up a piece of shredded leather. "Anyway, Die Hard 4 to the contrary notwithstanding, sliding, rolling, and/or tumbling across the pavement with any speed did a number on her outer garments, possibly already torn from the broken window glass and on fire. By the time she got past the guard rail cable, the gravel of the embankment, and the thorny bushes down below, the most intact protective item of clothing she had left would have been a thong, assuming she was wearing one. She had to have lost the shreds at the end, though, otherwise she would be more injured than she is."

"The bushes ate my clothes," said Rizzo, and Chuck turned red again. _How cute._

"She pulled a Rhonda," added Casey helpfully.

"Yeah, thank you Casey, I _got_ it."

Casey shrugged. "Just making sure."

"What's a Rhonda?"

"Sacrificing your clothes to get out of a tangling trap," said Chuck, as if that explained anything. "Thanks to the fire, the shooter was unable to immediately verify his kill, thanks to the roll down the hill, Agent Rizzo was no longer on fire, and the bushes made her invisible from above. I assume from the speed and professionalism of the whole operation that he expected the allcall, and he couldn't have known how far away reinforcements would be, so he left the scene rather than pursue Agent Rizzo any further."

Professionalism. _Heh._ "I would have at least taken a shot at the bushes."

"You would have had to get out of the car," said Chuck. "Good point, Casey. Now we know the shooter worked alone."

"Thanks for that thorough analysis of how I ended up naked, Charles," said Rizzo, annoyed. "You wouldn't happen to know the _color_ of the thong, would you?"

Chuck looked at her in the rearview. "That's a trick question."

She fumbled with his jacket, drawing it tighter. "Goddammit!"

"Anything to add, Agent Rizzo?" asked Casey.

"The shooter, singular, not plural, was a white male, with a beard," she said quickly. "How the _hell_ did you do that, Charles?"

Casey laughed. "The only thing Agent Charles can't do better than three other agents combined is fight a woman."

"And not blush."

Chuck blushed.

Zondra laughed shortly. "Sarah must love you."

"Yes she does," said Chuck. He turned to look at her again. "Or did you mean that in some snide, sarcastic way?"

For a second she was at a loss for words. Hostility she could handle, but the open inquiry on his face being something she wasn't at all prepared for. "Um, snide and sarcastic." Put that way it felt kind of crude.

"Why don't you like my wife?"

She lurched forward, so fast the seatbelt caught. "She called me a traitor to my face!"

He let Hurricane Zondra blow right past him, staring her in the eye. " _Are_ you one?"

She flopped back into her seat. "Agent Charles, I could have come up with a lot of reasons for not liking Sarah, anyone who's worked with her very long could. The only reason I even mentioned the 'traitor' thing is because I'm _not_ one."

Chuck nodded. "I'm very sorry."

"What are you sorry for? You've got nothing to do with it."

"You're still mad about it, though. It must have hurt, finding out she'd lost faith in you like that," said Chuck. "And I mean that in a sympathetic, consoling way, just so you know."

The honest emotion made her uncomfortable. "I can see that." Suddenly she looked curious. "How long have you known Sarah?"

Casey cleared his throat.

Zondra smiled. "That long, huh? I'm guessing you don't know her dark side."

Chuck had seen recorded footage of some of her kills. Not the same thing as being there but close. He could still smell the pine needles of the Christmas tree lot where Mauser died. Where Mauser _had_ to die, in order to protect him. "When I've had to. She's not that woman anymore."

Rizzo stared out the window. "If you say so."

Chuck turned away, and didn't look back.

* * *

Moscow, week eight…

Frost made her early morning rounds, Sarah at her side. D-Day was here, H-hour approached, and they never felt like they'd developed the plan enough. The guards had gotten used to the constant chatter as they patrolled.

Which may have been the point.

Suddenly Frost grabbed Sarah's arm. "Stop here. This is my third safe zone. Twenty years making them and you used them up in twenty days." She pulled a flat case from her pocket. "Give this to Chuck when you get back."

Sarah took it, wondered at the rattling noise. "What is it?"

"It was Hydra. What it is now, only Chuck will know. Go ahead and scan it for bugs, that shouldn't hurt the contents." She stepped forward, outside the safe area. "Don't worry about the clothes, we'll have them shipped. I'll miss you, Sarah."

* * *

Prague, week eight…

The doorknob rattled, as someone on the other side gripped it and used the key. It opened onto darkness, and a hand slid in to turn on the lights even before it had fully opened. "–on in, I can find you a robe or something until they get a room set up, and some spare clothes of your own."

Chuck stopped in the doorway. "Um…"

Carina lounged in his bed, covered by a thin sheet and not much else. "Well, don't just stand there, lover boy. Let me meet your other woman."

"Um…"

"Yeah, 'lover boy', what she said!" A hand shoved Chuck hard in the back, and he stumbled toward the bed, letting Zondra in, wearing his shirt above and coat below. "C?"

Carina sat up, holding the sheet to her neck. "Z?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" they said simultaneously.

"Um…" said Chuck, wearing only his pants.

Casey stood in the doorway and took a picture.

* * *

Washington DC, week eight…

Hannah logged off her servers, and made sure all her alerts were active, and set to forward to the right places. They always were, of course, but she hadn't become any of the things she'd become by being sloppy. Coat on and bag in hand, she opened the door and turned off the light, turning one last time to scrutinize her tiny but tidy domain.

Why was that light blinking? That light never blinked.

Lights went up, bag went down, as Hannah stepped up to the device in question and activated the screen. A stylized geopolitical map decorated the background, with a tiny dot of white light moving slowly over them.

She spun to her desk and turned on the monitor, pressing the button. _Come on, come on!_ She turned to look back at the screen, and the dot.

Naturally, that's when the monitor lit, giving General Beckman an wonderful view of the back of her head. She'd never seen the back of Hannah's head before, but she recognized the cut of her hair. "What is it, Hannah?"

Hannah's head turned faster than an owl's. "General! Sarah's on the move!"


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N** One of my favorite chapters, for the banter between Casey, Chuck, Zondra, and Carina. I still recommend ygbsm's story A Good Man Goes To War, even if it hasn't updated in forever.

* * *

Casey shut the door. "Aren't you supposed to be in Russia, Miller?" he asked, emailing the picture he'd just taken to one of his other accounts, in case Chuck somehow got hold of his camera.

"I got blitzed," said the naked, sheet-covered redhead. Blitzkrieg, lightning war, a sudden attack by one enemy on another. She'd been taken by surprise, possibly betrayed. A spy's worst nightmare.

"That explains the clothes, at least," said Zondra, fingering the collar of Chuck's shirt.

Casey turned on video.

"Mine are in the laundry." Carina looked at Zondra's outfit. "Whose hay have _you_ been rolling around in, Z?"

Zondra pointed at shirtless Chuck. "Ask him, if you want all the blow-by-blow."

 _That explains the clothes, at least._ Carina looked to the other side of the bed, frowning. "Sudden death wish, Chuckles?" she said, her voice low and dangerous.

"Um…"

"Does he look stupid?" asked Casey, trying to get her mind out of its usual gutter.

 _No, just too, too easy._ Carina played to the camera, jerking a thumb at the half-clad nerd. "Dressed like that?"

"I said 'stupid', not 'scrawny'."

"I am not scrawny!"

"And _I_ think he looks like a gentleman," said Zondra. He really did give her the clothes off his back.

"Do you even know what 'gentle' means?" said Carina, an evil glint in her eye. "You didn't on the CAT Squad."

"Wait a minute, the _what_ squad?" asked Chuck.

 _Bait taken._ "CAT Squad," said Carina. "Clandestine Attack Team." She smirked at Zondra's discomfort. "Didn't tell him about that, did you?"

Zondra made a fist. "I'm going to kill you, C."

"Clandestine Attack Team Squad?" said Chuck. "That makes no sense. Is it a team or a squad? And the only place either of you could be clandestine is a high-end fashion show. Well, no, I take that back, that Milan thing didn't exactly go under anyone's radar…"

Zondra put her fist away. "I thought that sounded like you." Unless he was talking about the _other_ Milan thing.

"This guy who called you the CAT Squad, is he still alive?" asked Chuck.

Carina turned back to him. "Between you and me, they should have called us 'Three CATs and a dog, because everyone called her the bitch of the group–"

Two could play at that game, if the second was Zondra. "Better than what they called _you_ , Ice Cube."

Casey stood there, ears bleeding. Unable to stop the train wreck and unable to look away.

Carina acted blasé. "I'm warm where it counts…"

"That explains how you got out of Russia naked."

Carina snarled at her former teammate, hands like claws, digging into the thin fabric that was all that protected Casey's delicate sensibilities.

"So who blitzed you, Miller?" said Casey quickly, before the sheet and the gauntlet went down. He pushed the button, ending his recording. One video he'd never watch, but he didn't make it for himself.

"Volkoff's men?" asked Chuck, knowing it couldn't have been, but more concerned with keeping his undercover partner under cover.

Carina glared at him. "Obviously not," she said, letting go of the sheet to point up. "Or my little eye-in-the-sky, whatever you finally eventually get around to calling her, would have given me enough warning that it wouldn't have been a blitz."

"Carina, focus," said Chuck.

"Yeah, Miller," said Casey. "Your cover got blown, you've got bigger things to worry about than a stupid code-name."

"No, Casey," said Chuck. "I meant that 'Focus' _was_ the stupid code-name. A lot better than the other, for this end of things."

Casey slowly shook his head. "Am I the only grown-up in the room?" Suddenly his phone started playing the Imperial March. They all stared at it, right there in his hand.

"Uh, Casey," asked Chuck, delicately. "You were saying…?"

"I was saying I'm gonna make my daughter single again." Casey stabbed at the accept button. "Yes, General?"

* * *

Quick scene change to Washington…

"Acquire Agent Bartowski and get to a secure communicator, Colonel," said Beckman without preamble. "We have a critical situation."

"Yes, ma'am," said Casey. "I'm with Agent Charles now. Uh, we have Agent Miller with us, as well. Is her presence needed for this meeting?"

"Agent Miller is with _you_?" asked Beckman. "Thank God. That makes the situation much less critical."

* * *

Quick scene change back to Prague…

Casey's brows rose, and he turned to look at Carina silently. "Are we both talking about the same Agent Miller, General?"

Carina grinned and made a crude hand gesture.

"Her signal terminated abruptly five days ago, Colonel. We feared the worst." Beckman audibly pulled herself together. "I want her report ASAP."

"Yes, ma'am." Casey put his phone away. "Charles, make yourself decent. And get a robe for Red, the General wants her story yesterday. Rizzo, you stay here. They've got cable, but all that means is the shows suck in Czechoslovakian."

"Uh, Casey," Chuck finished pulling a new T-shirt over his head. "I think we should bring Agent Rizzo with us."

"Yeah?" He looked at Rizzo, looking at Chuck. "Why?"

Chuck tossed Carina his robe. "Call it a hunch, but I think two agents, at one time on the same team, both blitzed in the same week, is worth reporting."

* * *

Another quick scene change, but still in Prague..

Half of Team B wan on the secure line with the other half, while Zondra waited to be called. She had no need to know and so she wouldn't. Ellie must not have known about Carina's return, from the look of relief on her face. Hannah took it much more in stride, with a little wave of her hand.

"Good evening, team, although I suppose it's good morning where you are," said the General. She nodded at Carina. "Agent Miller, good to see you safe and sound, if more casually dressed than usual. I assume there's a reason for it?"

Chuck raised his hand. Old habit. "Uh, General, before we begin, we have another agent with us. We extracted her from a little…situation here, and I think her story may have some relevance to whatever Carina has to say."

"Relevant how?"

"They were both members of the same team, and they were both attacked in the same week," said Casey, backing up his partner. He left out the rest for now.

"Would this agent be either of these two women?" Two official file photos popped up on the monitor.

"Yes, ma'am," said Casey. "Agent Rizzo."

"Bring her in." As Chuck got up to do that she added, "Ellie, Hannah, shut down your cameras please."

When Zondra sat down only General Beckman was on the monitor. "Good evening, General."

"Agent Rizzo. I understand you've had an eventful night."

"Yes ma'am. My car was attacked, I barely escaped the explosion. Agents Casey and Charles were the first to respond."

Beckman didn't bother to correct her choice of title for Casey. "You're very fortunate they happened to be in the area."

Casey leaned into the pickup. "No, General, Agent Rizzo was part of Chuck's training scenario last night."

"And that happened by chance, did it?"

"No, ma'am, but I suspect you already knew that."

"I can smell a rat as well as any cat, Colonel," said Beckman with a little smile. "When analysis of the picture Agent Miller sent in failed as a whole, the circled faces in it were fed into the system separately." A row of small images appeared at the bottom of the screen, faces cropped from the larger image.

"Wow, General, I didn't even see you move your hands."

"Agent Charles…"

"Can I just take a moment to tell her that her alternate code-name is "Focus', General?"

"Chuck, f-" Beckman caught herself, looking confused, but she recovered quickly. "This is not the time." She glanced at Hannah's monitor and caught the tiny _Yes!_ gesture, and suppressed a smile. Back to business. "While Sarah appears to have exploited their more personal proclivities to accomplish her goals, they were all business associates as well."

"Yes, ma'am," said Rizzo. "Carina and I recognized them from our days on the CAT Squad. When your Facial Rec failed she asked me to play courier."

 _To the Intersect Host._ "By so doing she may have painted targets on both your backs. Doubtless you'll remember this man, a known associate of theirs who is not in Carina's picture and so was probably not at the house." A man's handsome, bearded face appeared on the monitor.

"Augusto Gaez," snarled Carina and Rizzo together.

"And from the look of things, it seems he remembers you."

* * *

Frost sat in her chair on the Volkoff plane, working quietly away on her laptop, as if she sat in her tiny office back in Moscow.

Sarah came up with a cup of coffee and stood across from her.

"Suited up already?" asked Frost.

Sarah hadn't noticed Frost look up. She put the coffee down and twisted inside the catsuit, pulling and stretching the tight leather. All the gear had to go on the outside, but she didn't have any of that on yet, or the annoyingly high-heeled boots. "The leather squeaks." She hadn't worn it since she'd returned with the Gobbler.

"Yes. Good idea, breaking it in up here."

"Better than down there." Sarah sat and took a sip of her stimulant beverage. "Why are you here?"

Frost didn't lift her gaze or stop typing. "What do you mean?"

Sarah scratched at her arm. The whole thing itched abominably. "I'm done with Volkoff and him with me."

"That may be true," said Frost, "But you tend to leave opportunities in your wake, and Alexei sent me to be on hand to seize those opportunities. Or to make apologies, if you fail." Now she lifted her gaze, pinning Sarah. "I hate making apologies. See to it that I don't have to."

* * *

Chuck raised his hand again. "Uh, General, who–?"

"Augusto Gaez in the arch-nemesis of the CATs, and the leader of the Gentle Hand." A different picture of Gaez popped up.

"The 'Gentle Hand'?" said Chuck. "Are these bad guys or a massage parlor?"

"They're ruthless terrorists," said Zondra.

"Killers for hire," added Carina. "And now he must believe we're after him again."

Zondra nodded. "If you want the competition blown away, they're who you call. Pretty literally, too. I rocket launcher would have been more their speed than what they did to me tonight."

Casey grunted. "Probably wanted proof of death."

"Or maybe they were stretched thin hunting me," said Carina. "I was dodging these clowns for days, They almost had me at one point, but I…managed to get away."

"What happened?" asked the General, suspicious of that pause.

"I don't know. I was in a barn, no ammo, just my knife. I could hear them outside, closing in, and then, I don't know, it sounded like a spaceship hovered over the barn, I'm surprised the thing didn't fall down. Lots of gunfire, some explosions, and then it just…went away."

"Did you get a look at it?" asked Chuck. It probably wasn't a spaceship, but still…

* * *

Interlude of sorts, in Washington…

Ellie was grateful for her invisibility as she watched her brother. The General had been keeping her informed, sent her statistics, photos. One memorable afternoon, they'd even gotten together at an undisclosed location to go over actual footage. In theory it had been a medical briefing for the Intersect Host's primary caretaker, but without medical data of any kind it was really just an opportunity for Diane to show off her star pupil to her star protégé.

Generals don't say 'I told you so.' They don't have to.

The whole sequence had been carefully orchestrated, of course. First the numbers, dry facts that would appeal to a medical statistician like Ellie, without setting off any of her brother-alarms. The photos had been carefully selected to show him at his best. Lots of head shots, his expression calm and concentrated.

The images from the pistol range were initially from behind, the emphasis on form, although Diane was careful not to wax too enthusiastic about that to a woman who had only once ever held a gun, and never fired it. The circular targets had nice large holes in them, usually just the one each. The human shapes were much worse, or they had been, until someone who'd just received a commendation had suggested using a paintball gun instead.

As General Beckman had laid those targets aside, she'd said, "You see, Ellie, he's still your brother."

Then all that static imagery was put into motion, with selected footage. Gymnastics and juggling. Martial arts and weapons skills. All things Ellie was used to seeing, but this time he had no Intersect to help him. All of these skills had become his, somehow. He wasn't Intersect-level perfect but he was still virtually unstoppable. He was still Chuck, too, a fact for which both Ellie and the General were unspeakably grateful. If anything he was even more Chuck than before.

Then came the scenarios. To Ellie they looked like spy action movies with her brother as the star, but Beckman was careful to point out the little flaws in his performance. Eventually even Ellie was able to notice Chuck's tell, every time someone called him Agent Charles. He wasn't comfortable with that whitest of lies, and made it as true as he could as soon as possible.

"Call me Chuck."

And he never used the gun the way guns were supposed to be used. As Chuck had demonstrated a few weeks back, Intersect accuracy and dart guns are much better than mere bullets for leaving enemy agents alive for questioning, so Beckman eventually reconciled herself with the idea of an agent's primary weapon being a mere tranq pistol, as long as he was the agent. Ellie thought that was a good thing, that he was still her Chuck.

Out of all that story Carina told, he focused on the spaceship. What a nerd.

* * *

Real-time, back in the briefing…

"I got a good look at nothing except the ground, trying not to step in man-paste." Carina shuddered in memory. "I rearmed, stole a motorcycle and got the hell out. Hocked the bike in Poland for some medical care, a rail pass, and a ride to the train station in a turnip truck."

"Gotta love the classics," muttered Casey.

"What kind of medical care?"

"Metal fragment in my left leg, that's how I ended up in the barn."

"She's not field-capable, General," said Casey.

"Agent Miller will return to DC as soon as possible," said Beckman, "And see Dr. Woodcombe about her injury."

On the little screen to her left, Ellie mouthed a 'Thank you' to her boss. Devon loved to be useful.

That sounded like she was being benched. Carina hated being benched. Who'd watch Sarah? "I walked here, didn't I? Snuck in, and made it all the way to Chuck's room."

"Naked," added Casey. "In his bed."

"To wait until he came back, and you," Carina shot back. The only men on the continent she knew she could trust. "No clean clothes. Five days."

Chuck put a hand on her shoulder and she calmed.

"General, what about Amy?" asked Zondra, amazed at the change in her former friend. "If Gaez is after us he could go after her too."

"We thought of that, Agent Rizzo," said Beckman. "While I'd like to say she's safe and sound, the best I can do is to point out that if her whereabouts are unknown to us, they should be even more unknown to whatever mole gave away your own locations."

Carina snorted. "Just look for the biggest party, General. She'll be in the middle of it."

"I have Mr. Clark monitoring her phone."

"That'll work too, I guess."

"General, what's our response?" asked Casey. No one went after his team and lived to smirk about it. "Are we going after Gaez?"

"No, Colonel, you're going after Sarah. Her tracking nanos have become active again. It appears she's on her way to South America as we speak."

* * *

Somewhere in the world…

Amy Johnson held the phone to her ear, nodding occasionally as she memorized the instructions she was receiving. "Yes sir. I'm in Miami now. I'll fly down to Rio and meet them at the safe house, call me with the location. Yes, sir. I hope they bring lots of weapons, this sounds like my kind of party. I want to do my bit to take down that bastard at last. Thank you, sir." She ended the call.

A male hand reached over and plucked the phone from her grasp, putting it on the bedside table. The man whose hand it was gazed down on her from above, as they lay in bed together. "Bastard?"

She slapped him with the now-empty hand, lightly. "Bastard," she confirmed. "You going after my friends behind my back, 'Gusto baby?"


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N** The idea that Casey would let a possible mole into the cell with him when he went to question Gaez still boggles my mind. This way Amy outs herself without Casey having to be stupid, nor do we have idiocies like throwing stars made from DVDs.

* * *

In the air to Rio…

The plane jinked in midair, causing Casey to drop another ice cube, but this time Chuck didn't try to kill him, although he was armed.

"Okay, Charles, spill," said the big man, inviting Murphy to do his worst as he made his way back to his team, planning their mission literally on the fly. "How are the trackers still active? They should have gone silent months ago."

Chuck didn't look up from his maps. "Isn't that a little secondary right now, Casey?"

"Humor me," said Casey, unsmiling. "I'm a curious guy. Curious as in, how could a tracking signal that should have gone dead suddenly become active again, and start leading us away from an enemy stronghold right after our AOS got chased off?"

"Not 'right after'," said Chuck. "That would have been five days ago, and I admit I would have found that timing suspicious. You should probably ask Focus about this, I'm sure the General thinks the same way you do."

 _Focus._ Heh. "Radio silence, moron."

"I didn't say you had to ask her _now_."

"But I want to know _now_ , Charles, so your best guess is my only guess."

"Be careful what you wish for, Colonel," said Zondra. "He's a pretty good guesser."

"Don't say things like that, Rizzo, or he might start to think he was competent."

"Trying to get some mission prep done here, people," said Chuck.

Casey sat down. "We've got the three of us, and a bunch of guns that a _training facility_ could spare, and we're in the air, hopefully not too far behind. That's all the mission prep we're gonna get, Charles." He drank his watered scotch. "All the Google Maps in the world can't fix that."

Chuck tapped the side of his head. "You know, this computer you call my brain, it doesn't work on _no_ data, Colonel."

"You know, he's got a point, Charles," said Rizzo. "I know you married her and all, and I'm sorry about that, by the way, but someone was a traitor in our team. Someone just tried to kill me and Carina, and someone could be running back to her boss right now. Give me a reason not to blow her away simply on general principles."

"I'd kill you," said Casey.

Her look said _You'd try._ "That's a reason to walk away. I need something better if you want me to go in with you."

 _Three CATs and a dog, 'cause she's the bitch…_ Chuck threw down his maps. "All right, fine. Um, okay. Nanos have a limited life, they're supposed to get their power as they move, until they get excreted. As they get excreted, their number drops below threshold, so a signal is no longer detectable."

"Nothing new there, Charles."

"You want an alternate workflow, I need to have the normal one in mind. So we have a signal, which means the nanos couldn't have been excreted. Which probably means–"

"They were never injected in the first place," said Casey.

Chuck shrugged. "Best guess, Carina's needle pierced the suit and the nanos were spread all over the inside of her sleeve. Once they dried out they'd stop broadcasting, so their limited battery power wouldn't be depleted. What do you want to bet she's wearing the same outfit now? That leather thing's got to get pretty sweaty."

"The rubber ones are worse," said Zondra. She looked up, into their silence. "Or so I've heard."

"Sweat," said Casey, shaking his head to get the images out. "It's a theory."

Zondra laughed. "It's a WAG."

That's all Casey'd asked for. "I'll take his WAGs over any other analyst's facts, and so will you."

"Fine, so it doesn't have to be treason, and we're all friends again." Chuck picked up his maps. "Can I get back to work now?"

"No." Casey pulled out a tranq gun and shot him once, with a low-dosage dart. "You're exhausted, and you're spiraling. We need you fresh."

* * *

In a decent but not-too-expensive suburb of Washington DC…

The cab pulled up to the curb, and a beautiful redhead got out, limping slowly up to the door. Before she got there it opened, and Devon was right there to help her into the house.

A little down the road, someone watched from behind the curtains of another house. The watcher got out a cheap, planless phone, scrolling through a short list of contacts. Selecting one, the watcher tapped out a quick note, informing her contact of exactly where Carina Miller was.

* * *

At a safehouse in Rio...

"Yoo-hoo, Zondra Rizzo," caroled the blonde in a sing-song voice.

"Well, there goes the stealth approach," muttered the subject of the caroling. "At least she's not using a loudspeaker."

The door flew open and the caroler pelted down the walk to the tired team. Zondra braced herself as she was swept up into a fierce hug. "I missed you, girlfriend," said Amy. "And Carina, and…and…where is everybody? They told me the CATs were getting back together."

"Not exactly," said Zondra. "We'll talk about it under cover. There'd better be coffee."

Amy smacked her lightly. "Oh you, as if I'd forget." Suddenly she appeared to notice the men. "And who have you collected this time?"

Rizzo indicated the men with jerks of her head. "Casey, Charles."

Somehow Casey just didn't seem all that inviting, but Amy wrapped her arms around Chuck. "Well hello, Agent Charles." She looked at Rizzo. "Halfsies?"

"He's Walker's husband."

Amy practically pushed Chuck away, her voice starting at a shriek and edging up to the supersonic. "Ohmigod, ohmigod! What are we waiting for, you have got to tell me all about it." She grabbed Chuck's bag and ran back inside.

"That was fun," said Zondra.

"How'd she make the cut?" asked Casey. "Infiltration and inducement?"

"And a mean right hook," said Zondra. "Don't let her looks or behavior fool you, she's good where it counts."

"What about where it doesn't count?" asked Chuck, checking his collar for lipstick. He reeked of perfume.

"Yeah, well, that part takes a little getting used to."

* * *

Movement down the street attracted the watcher's attention, as Devon pulled out his car. The redhead, now sporting a leg brace and a cane, walked to the passenger side as Devon got the door, gentleman that he was.

It all went into the next report. Once made, the watcher sat back and contemplated the empty house.

* * *

The team had no van that night. It would have been far too obvious this close to the target, and they had no one to stay in it. Chuck and Zondra went in first. Zondra took his hand, and Chuck flinched. "We're a couple, Charles," she muttered. "Sell it."

He flashed her a number two smile. She wasn't the person he wanted by his side in Rio, or anywhere else. That person had to be around here somewhere. "So who names a nightclub 'Cabaret Punch to the Throat', anyway?" he asked, as they walked slowly around to the front of the building.

"Someone who caters to clueless ignorant Americans, numb-nuts," growled Casey in his ear. "And I thought _my_ small talk was bad. You're a couple on a romantic getaway. Act like it."

"Buenos noches, compadres," said Chuck loudly to the men standing by the door, his accent strong but indeterminate.

"Or you can act like an inebriated cowherd," muttered Casey.

Chuck ignored him. "Is this here the Soco na gargantua? Me and the missus were looking for a spot of excitement in your marvelous city and when I heard this place had SoCo _right in the name_ I knew it was the spot for me!"

One of the men gestured to the others, and they faded into the background. "Si, senhor," he said, in a deep, accented voice. "You have indeed found your little slice of heaven, Mister…?"

Chuck let go of Zondra's hand to introduce himself. "Charles. My name is Charles Charles and this here's the Missus Charles and we are the Charleses," he said in a tone of great accomplishment. Zondra took his arm and he patted her hand fondly. "Y'all can call me Chuck."

The gentleman made a slight bow, to him and especially to Zondra. "And you may call me Augusto. Augusto Gaez, owner of the Soco Na Garganta." He indicated the door, and all that lay beyond it, with a possessive wave.

Chuck's face went blank, and his eyes went wide. "Oh, my, gosh, you are my new best friend."

Gaez smiled, cat to mouse. "I fear I am unworthy of that honor, senhor…Chuck," Gaez corrected himself. "But if you will come with me, you may have the experience of some Southern American Comfort."

* * *

In the air above Rio...

Sarah finished fastening the straps to her parachute as Frost came up and held out the goggles. "I guess this is it. We've got the club roof painted now, you should have no problem."

That club. Sarah rolled her eyes. "Who names a nightclub 'Cabaret Punch to the Throat'?" She put on the hood and then the goggles. With these, the laser light bouncing off the club's roof would make the place glow brighter than any other building.

Frost smiled. "I could tell you stories, but I doubt you'd believe most of them."

"There's a surprise." Sarah moved to the door, looking down to find that brilliant dot.

"I've always been honest with you, Sarah," said Frost, into the roaring wind, not making any effort to be heard..

Sarah's ears were as good as the rest of her. "That's what I'm afraid of." The light turned green and she jumped into the void.

* * *

On the ground, outside the club...

Amy grinned as Chuck and Zondra went silent. "That was unexpected."

Casey sighed. "No."

They rounded the corner themselves, and the sound of the music from within the club increased tenfold. Amy's body began to move to the beat, even as she walked, and Casey put on an expression of long-suffering patience.

"Come on," said Amy suddenly, turning to grab his hand. "Where there's music, there's dancing, and you know how much I love dancing."

"Yeah, I know how much you love dancing," said Casey in a tone of great suffering, allowing himself to be led into the club.

Amy dove straight into the crowd, her body moving to the beat as she smiled and flirted her way through the mass of shifting bodies, smiling and flirting back. Casey stayed to the perimeter, heading toward the bar. Neither Chuck nor Zondra were at all obvious, so he looked for signs to where they might have gone. On a rear table he spotted a small statue, off center.

"Johnson, I found them," he said into his mike. "Back of the club, right turn."

"VIP room," said Amy, dancing her way out as easily as she'd worked her way in.

Casey got himself a drink, poured it into his mouth, and went to find a bathroom so he could spit it out. The training facility had no alcodote pills and he wasn't about to impair himself. He came out to find Amy primping in front of a mirror, pushing things around in her clothes. "Do you have to do that?" he asked, eyes averted.

"It's a VIP room, you have to look like you belong." She pulled out her makeup.

From the other side of the door a man laughed, deep and jovial.

Amy spoke around her lipstick. "Sounds like Gaez has a new best friend too."

Casey got out his own best friend, and checked the load. "Like I said, you have to expect the unexpected with Charles. I swear he can take a header into a midden and come up covered with diamonds."

Exit lipstick, enter compact. "I was talking about the accent, before."

"Oh, that. That's just his persona. Don't you have a favorite role you like to play?"

"Yep." Amy turned suddenly and blew dust from her compact into Casey's face. The powder blinded him, choked him, while the poison dulled his reflexes. As his consciousness started to fade, he heard her say, "I call it 'Party Girl'."

* * *

Sarah landed nimbly on the roof, in her skin-tight leather suit but with much more sensible low heeled boots. The goggles went away but the hood stayed on, no reason to let her bright yellow hair give her away now. Fumbling with the buckles to her chute, she approached the skylight.

* * *

Amy kicked the doors open, startling the two goons as they tied Chuck's and Zondra's hands. "Hey, 'Gusto, I was gonna be clever and say 'look what the CAT dragged in', but I just did my nails, so I didn't feel like dragging him in." She looked at the two goons. "You two, go get the other one."

* * *

Sarah looked down in shock, buckles forgotten. _Amy?_

* * *

"Amy?" said Zondra, as her goon administered a final tug to her bonds.

"Amy," said Chuck, as they left, leaving no one standing behind him. His fingers worked quickly.

Zondra turned to look at him. "You don't sound all that surprised about it."

"Why should I be?" asked Chuck. "It was pretty obvious, if you ask me."

"What do you mean, 'obvious'?" Augusto held Amy's arm to keep her back. "Do you have any idea how much crap I took, building up that image as a world-class dope?"

Chuck flinched, his voice going up an octave. "I didn't say you didn't do a pretty good job."

"You bet I did," said Amy. "Not once did my three tough broad so-called partners ever suspect me of being anything but a sexed-up party doll."

* * *

 _Tough broad so-called_ former _partners._ Sarah pulled her gun, slowly angling her body for a good kill shot on the traitor. Something painful, and lingering.

* * *

"Why'd you do it, Amy?" asked Zondra.

"Because I _am_ a party girl," said Amy, pulling her gun. "With a different kind of party. Why play for the CIA, with all their stupid rules, when I can have my own fun with 'Gusto? It's everything I ever wanted."

"It's not perfect, though, is it? Not enough?" asked Chuck, in his sympathetic, consoling way.

"It's a little lonely," said Amy. She looked at Zondra. "Join me?"

"We could use someone with your skills," said Gaez, with all the charm of a used-car salesman. "Someone who can open a door with a fist, or a smile."

"Is that why you attacked me, shot up my car? To get me here to give me a sales pitch?" asked Zondra in wonder. "Go to hell."

"I did not attack you," said Gaez, pulling out his own gun. "I am merely defending myself."

"From what?"

"From this," said Gaez. He raised his arm and fired his pistol into the air, shattering the skylight. In the club outside, people started screaming. Running too, from the sound of it.

Sarah threw herself back, away from the bullets, and the weakened glass of the skylight gave way. Gaez and Amy leapt out of the way as she fell toward the floor, only to stop a few feet from the ground, caught up in her chute's cords.

Chuck lost no time taking advantage of the mysterious intruder's sudden appearance. He flexed his wrists, pulling against the cords he'd mostly cut through with his own razor-sharp fingernail, and the ropes snapped. He jumped on the nearest goon as Zondra did some kind of jump-and-roll maneuver. She came out of it with her hands in front of her, still tied, not that a little thing like that stopped her, or helped the goon she chose to start with.

Spinning in mid-air, gun in hand, Sarah saw her husband and her friend in danger and did what any good assassin-wife would do.

Chuck took a knife from a dead goon's hand. "Z!" he yelled.

When Zondra turned he threw the knife into a pillar near her, and she freed her hands. Snatching up a fallen weapon or two, she caught a glimpse of a closing door. "Gaez is getting away!" She gave chase, not even noticing the dangling black-clad figure as she ran into it, and started it spinning the other way.

"Zondra!" Chuck looked around quickly. Guns, guns, guns… _knives!_ He snatched up two more and went after his partner.

Sarah grabbed the cords of her chute, climbing back up to the roof.

Gaez and Amy were trapped, a mob of fleeing patrons between them and freedom. They'd need a machine gun to clear the way. Zondra dove behind the bar as Gaez fired at her, shattering mirrors and bottles with abandon.

Chuck came out with knives in hand. The crowd was almost gone and Amy was almost to the door, Gaez running to her. Chuck threw his knives, but not at either of them. The ropes holding up two chandeliers snapped, dropping twin masses of glass and steel in front of the exit even as the last innocent foot stepped through it.

"Bad move, Chuck," said Amy, firing at him. "I didn't want to kill you before but believe me I will enjoy doing it now."

The lights went out.

Zondra used that moment, before their eyes adjusted to the dimness, to slip out from behind the bar on the other side. Chuck tried to stop her but couldn't yell. He had to back her up somehow. He snatched some of the shards of glass, not knives but heavy enough for his purposes.

"There she is," said Amy.

She must have spotted Zondra's white dress. Chuck estimated her position from the sound of her voice and stood up, throwing his makeshift weapons. He knocked the gun from Amy's hand with the first, but missed with the other two as his targets dove for cover. He ducked down for more pieces.

"I see her!" yelled Amy again, and again Chuck stood up to give her cover.

Amy stood right in front of him. "Game over, Agent Charles."

A gun fired twice, and Amy flew into his arms as bullets slammed into her back. Chuck caught her body automatically, and saw Zondra standing behind her.

"What is it with you and girls, anyway?" she asked.

Behind Zondra, Chuck saw a flash of grey as Augusto Gaez stepped out from behind a pillar, taking aim at the greatest threat, who currently had her back to him. Chuck pushed Amy's body to get clear…and felt her gun, still clutched in her cooling, dead hand. Felt it slide into his own hand.

Gaez took aim.

Chuck took aim.

Zondra realized her danger and moved, and Gaez hesitated as he lost his target.

Chuck didn't hesitate at all.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N** Not much to say here that I didn't say when this chapter first came out, and I hate to repeat myself.

* * *

In the VIP room of a nightclub in Rio…

Sarah scrambled up the twisted cords to her chute, her mind reeling. Why wasn't Chuck home safe, where he belonged? What was he doing in the field? He had no business out here!

" _Z!"_

The last time she'd heard him speak he'd been saying her name, so weak. Now she heard it again, his wonderful voice, calling Zondra's nickname, so naturally. She saw him toss the blade so his partner could free herself, just as she herself would have done. In her spinning she'd caught glimpses of the whole short fight, the skill, the teamwork, even on opposite sides of the room. And then he'd left his own wife behind, not knowing who she was, calling Zondra's name as he followed her into danger.

Sarah frowned. Chuck should have been following _her_ into danger.

 _No!_ He should have been home, safe in his sister's lab.

Once back on the roof she couldn't get the buckles undone fast enough. She'd heard the gunfire, the shattering of glass. Her idiot husband had taken two knives to a gunfight. If Gaez didn't kill him she would.

 _I didn't mean that, Chuck, I'm sorry!_

She had to save him. How? She couldn't think! Couldn't breathe with this idiot hood on! She clawed it off her head, looking around. She had to get into the main room now! The roof had nothing but vents and pipes, bits of metal sticking up all over. Under the roof was a space for people, to work on the lights and such. Alternate entry plan three, but ripping the hatch covers off would take too long.

Plan two, but without the harness. Cable to strut, cable to belt. This would hurt even if she did it right, but she had no choice. At least she knew where the windows were without having to look. The cable had been measured out accordingly.

She ran to the edge of the roof and dove off, arcing through the air at the end of her tether, eyes on the prize as she twisted and maneuvered to punch through the _Ow!_

Shatterproof glass. _That's new._

The lights went out, inside. Where was Chuck? The bar still had some lights, bits of neon that weren't part of the room's main circuit, and fragments of mirror that were catching something from the other side of the room. There was Chuck, scrambling around in the debris behind the bar. He was safe.

"There she is!" Amy's voice.

Chuck stood up, and Sarah slammed the glass in frustration. _No!_

He threw something, and Amy cursed in the darkness. Two more throwing motions, and he dropped back down out of sight.

"I see her!" Amy's voice again, and this time Sarah looked for the source. She heard gunshots but saw no muzzle-flash. _Dammit!_

Movement. By the doors, and some shattered chandeliers with a few lights still glowing. Someone hiding by the pillars. A man, had to be Gaez. He raised his pistol.

One shot, then a second, pinned Gaez against the pillar, his nice white shirt erupting in red. _Right in the pump._ A third shot slammed the head against the pillar. Unnecessary, but that's Zondra for you, never take two shots when three will do. Chuck was safe! She looked back to the bar.

Her heart squeezed cold negation like blood.

Chuck held a gun in his hand.

Sarah saw nothing, heard nothing but _Doom. Doom_ , pulsing through her veins.

Her Chuck had just killed a man. He brought his other hand up, staring at dark smears, staring at…blood. He had blood on his hands too.

 _NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo!_

Lights flared and she recoiled from the scene, the window, the building. When she reached the far end of the arc and her body inevitably swung back, she fumbled with the cable's emergency release. The second spool started to unwind, dropping her below the level of the windows but still the building came closer, closer. _Release, release!_

She grabbed a knife and sliced the cable like a throat, dropping the last ten feet into the alley, slamming into a dumpster.

Sarah Bartowski ran like all the demons of Hell were on her heels, because they were.

* * *

Zondra Rizzo dropped the cloth that she'd used to cover her white dress and went to the door. She closed her eyes and hit the lights, the room exploding against her eyelids. The first thing she saw when she opened them was the crumpled body of Augusto Gaez, and a red smear against the pillar like an arrow pointing down.

 _Good riddance._

They had to move fast, before the police responded to whatever calls they were going to get. She wiped the prints from her gun, and switched weapons with the dead man. Let the ballistics show that Gaez killed Amy.

Something thumped, and she raised her new weapon, but it was only Chuck, collapsing to the floor in a kneeling position. He still held the gun out but gravity was taking its toll.

She ran across the room. "Chuck. Chuck!" No response. "Agent Charles!"

Chuck whispered something.

"What?" She held her ear close to his lips.

"Are you safe?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said instantly. _You got him._ No, that's not what he wanted to hear. "I'm fine. You saved me, Chuck."

He sighed out "Good" and fell silent. His arm dropped, the gun thumping against the floor.

She pulled it from his grip, wiped it off, and put it back where it belonged. Let the ballistics show that Amy killed Gaez. "Chuck, we have to move."

"Good." He didn't move.

"Great." If Casey wasn't moving either, she'd have to abandon them both. She ran back to the VIP room, but the bigger man was already in the hall, bracing himself against the wall. "Are you okay?"

Casey spat on the floor. "Fortunately I'd just rinsed out my mouth with a glass of good Scotch. Stopped her poison cold." And the poison that got past that, ran headlong into the Janitor's Brew he drank every day. "What's going on? Where's Chuck?"

"He's on the floor in the club."

Casey brought his head up, fixing her with a fierce look. "Wounded?"

"I don't think so. I shot Amy, he got Gaez. Right now he's just kneeling on the floor, but he doesn't look injured."

"Goddammit!" He pushed away from the wall, staggering toward the club.

"We have to get out of here," said Amy.

Casey turned and snarled, "I'm not leaving any of my team behind, got me?" He gestured at the room he'd just left. "Clean up in there!" He stumbled forward, stronger with every step, and knelt down next to his partner. "Chuck?"

"She's safe," whispered Chuck. "She's safe."

Casey lifted Chuck up as gently as any newborn. "Yeah, she's safe, and so am I, thanks to you. Good work, partner."

Chuck still whispered, but the words changed. "They're safe. They're safe…"

Casey grunted. _At least he's not_ totally _catatonic._ He turned to Zondra as she came toward them. "Get us out of here."

* * *

"What's the matter with him, Colonel?" asked Zondra as she drove through the backstreets of Rio to the evac site.

Casey looked in the back seat, where Chuck had mercifully fallen asleep. "He's got a conscience, Rizzo."

Talk about a liability in the field. "He doesn't wimp out like this every time he shoots someone, does he?"

Casey wished Carina were here. She may not shut up either, but at least she'd talk about something else. "So far."

What did that mean, 'so far'? This guy had a history and they didn't tell her? "How many men has he killed?"

Casey gave her that look.

A virgin? "No way!" As good as he was, a rep like he had? She waited for Casey to tell her it was a joke, and then waited some more. Finally she sighed. "Great."

 _Yeah, that's what I said._ "Just shut up and drive, Rizzo."

* * *

One quickly changed flight plan later…

When they were airborne to DC, Casey left Zondra to watch over Chuck while he went to the conference room to check in. At least he and the General were in the same time zone this time. "Good Evening, General."

"Colonel Casey, where's the rest of your team?"

No, he didn't think that one would slide by her. "They're safe on board, ma'am," he said quickly, and first. "Amy Johnson revealed herself as the traitor, letting Agents Bartowski and Rizzo walk into a trap, and then she tried to poison me."

"I gather that events didn't work out in their favor, in spite of these advantages."

"No, ma'am, although my report for most of the rest would be hearsay. You'll have to interview Agent Rizzo for that."

"What happened to Chuck?"

Casey looked unhappy. "The long and short of it is…According to Agent Rizzo…that is, in order to save her life…" Casey took a deep breath, and tried again. "To save the life of Agent Rizzo, Special Agent Charles Bartowski shot and killed Augusto Gaez in the line of duty. Ma'am."

General Beckman digested that in silence. "I see," she said at last. "And where were you?"

"I was in the back of the club, trying to get over the poison, and aid my team. I turned the lights out in the main room, knowing that in any circumstances where everyone was equal, Chuck would always be a little equaller. That's where Agent Rizzo found me, after. She cleaned the site while I extracted Agent Bartowski. He was…" Casey chose an Ellie-word. "Responsive, but not very."

"It's not your fault, Colonel."

"I'm his handler, General, I should have forced the issue weeks ago."

"You did, John," said Beckman, getting his attention as no amount of rank-pulling would have. "We just have to hope that he's as flexible about this as he was about not using guns, well, _as guns_ , in the first place." She made the kind of grunt that only high-ranking officers like Casey could understand. "Send Agent Rizzo in, please. I'll need all the data I can get before I tell Ellie anything about this…this..."

"Snafu, ma'am?"

"Once again you demonstrate your notable gift for understatement, Colonel," said the General. "Watch over him, John."

* * *

Back in Rio, on the ground…

Frost sat in the cabin on the Volkoff corporate jet, working late as usual. On the subject of Sarah Walker, Alexei and Vivian Volkoff had far different perspectives and preferences, and it was one of her jobs to reconcile them as best she could. In her favor, the fruits of Agent Walker's success tended to be considerable, and even Vivian was willing to tolerate Miss Walker's existence as long as it was productive. Another of Frost's jobs was to capitalize on that productivity, manage it, make it work for them, and for her.

Frost had long since learned the secret of serving two masters. The real trick was serving three.

In the back of the plane a woman shrieked. The computer sailed across the plane into a comfy chair on the far side. Before it landed Frost was in the aft compartment, knife in one hand and a tranq pistol in the other. The, for lack of a better term, stewardess cringed in the corner. Frost barked out one word. "What?"

The woman pointed, at the compartment with the laundry equipment in it. Several different scenarios passed through Frost's mind and were immediately discarded as untenable. The gun went away, the knife went into her dominant hand, in case close-quarters work was called for.

Frost grabbed the handle to the compartment door and pulled it open as suddenly as she could, while stepping back out of range of any immediate attack.

Sarah Walker crouched in the back of the little closet, in the deepest shadows available, breathing with a panting, animal sound. "Agent Walker? What are you doing here?" She was supposed to go home, a trap within the CIA, just waiting for Alexei Volkoff to spring it.

Sarah said nothing, just stared.

"Agent Walker, did you accomplish your mission?" said Frost, in her command voice.

Sarah _growled_ at her!

This wasn't working. Frost turned to the stewardess and said, "Tell the pilot to get us out of here, now."

The woman fled the room gratefully.

Frost put her weapon away and knelt, eye to eye. "What's the matter, Sarah?" she asked, mother to daughter. "What happened?"

Sarah flinched away from the comforting tone of her voice. "It won't come off."

Frost looked for Sarah's gun, but it had been used, lost, left behind. "You killed Gaez?"

 _Chuck brought his other hand up, staring at dark smears._ "It won't come off!" She leapt out of the shadows, taking the other woman not entirely by surprise. _"It won't come off!"_

Frost would have rolled with it, but the narrow confines of the aft area brought her up against a wall, Sarah's hands at her throat. Frost went for her eyes, and Sarah jerked away. Frost kicked her back into the closet, and rolled for the door, to get some room to maneuver. She felt for her tranq pistol. It wasn't there. She looked in the doorway and saw it there on the floor.

Sarah blocked her view. "It won't come off!"

This was going to hurt. Good. Frost wanted it to hurt. She smiled, a smile that made normal people blanch, and threw away the knife. She reached to the collar of her blouse and pulled. Buttons popped, fabric tore, and the restrictive blouse gave way, revealing her much less restrictive body armor. "No!" she yelled, finally, freely, and in English, a language no one on board knew. "It doesn't come off!"

The right thing to say, if you wanted to start a war.

Sarah launched herself at Frost, but the older and more experienced agent saw the move coming and caught her hands, only to catch a kick to the ribs from Sarah's left foot. Even as she reeled from the force of the kick she held on to Sarah's wrists, dragging her off balance as well before letting go. By the time Sarah had regained her balance Frost had rolled, painfully, to open up some distance between them. Both of them adopted fighting postures.

Frost sneered at the woman with death in her eyes. "Do you think you can possibly hate me as much as I do right now?" She would welcome death, but it would have to beat her first. She still had work to do.

Sarah had nothing to say that her eyes weren't already saying. She never was very big on words.

Suddenly the floor moved sideways, and Sarah jumped. Frost lost track of things after that, the years of training and conditioning bypassing her mind entirely. She and Sarah were matching sets of reflexes now, full of rage, hatred, and bitter self-loathing.

They had so much in common.

At some point, Frost felt the table give way under her she fell on top of it, and Sarah jumped on her again, pinning her arms with her knees and going for the throat a second time. Frost tried to buck her off, or use her legs, but the fight had been taken out of her. She had no idea how long they'd been going at it, and her years betrayed her. Her head pounded and her sight grew dim, but she kept her eyes locked on Sarah's, staring her death in the face.

Suddenly Sarah's grip loosened, and she leaned forward, closer, closer, fighting gravity every step of the way. Her eyes glazed over and finally closed, her head coming to rest gently against Frost's.

Frost freed her arms and rolled Sarah off her, gently. She looked up, to see the stewardess with the tranq gun shaking in her hands. Knowing better than to try to speak, Frost gave her a thumbs-up. _You get a raise. Ow._

* * *

The next day…

Ellie came downstairs, third thing in the morning. The first two involved hitting the snooze button on her alarm clock. The fourth involved coffee. She sat at the kitchen table, head propped upon hand, drinking coffee as she watched the blinking light.

Eventually she wondered why the light was blinking. After a while it occurred to her to wonder what light it _was_.

She wasn't about to press a blinking button on her CIA-issued TV at coffee-o'clock in the morning. Somewhere around here they still had that instruction manual, probably filed under 'Instruction Manuals'.

The instructions were not written for the sleep-deprived, but they might have been written _by_ them. _Lights, blinking_ was not in the index.

Ah. Voice mail. She read some more. Self-destructing voice mail.

She got her phone, and called up its video function. If this worked she'd have to tell the boffins in R&D about it, since it probably wasn't supposed to.

Channel zero, as usual. With the TV centered in the screen, she said, "File item one."

The screen lit with General Beckman's face, against the backdrop of her office. "Ellie, call me as soon as you listen to this. Thank you." The screen faded to black, and the light went out.

Ellie sat back on her couch, folding her hands over the bulge in her tummy. Well. Kind of… anticlimactic. She checked the recording anyway. Pretty late, really. What kept a General up so late? Nothing good, she supposed, but apparently not important enough to get her out of bed.

 _Okay, let's get this over with._ "General Beckman."

* * *

Devon Woodcombe bounced downstairs, fresh from his shower and ready to kick a few stars out of the sky. He checked the pot, sadly empty. "Hey, babe, didn't you make any coffee?"

"Yup," she said from the living room. "You might want to make more though. Make a lot."

"Uh, sure, El." Working from home today? He scooped out a lot more than usual. "Anything for breakfast?"

"Yes, please. Whatever you're making."

He went out to the living room, empty pot in hand. "No, babe, what I meant was–"

She didn't look up from the computer, sitting atop her belly. Tears lined her face. "Kind of busy here, hon."

"El?"

* * *

General Beckman sat at her desk, working on her report. There were still those who thought the best use of Chuck as a resource was in the lab, and she had to figure out a way to tell them they were wrong , in spite of last night's events, and still make them like it. However horrific it may seem, last night was a molehill, not a mountain, and she was going to keep it that way.

If it was easy, anybody could do it.

"General?" asked Mr. Charles over the speaker. "Agent Miller on line 3."

Beckman checked her watch, and pressed the button. "That didn't take long."

Carina cut to the chase. "Is it true?"

"Yes, it's true."

"I was wounded. It wasn't my fault."

"I'll make sure Sarah knows that."

"She's gonna kill me," said Carina. "I should have been there."

"No, Carina," said Beckman. Today was a real first-name sort of day. She hated those. "It wasn't your fault. Your presence would not have helped, and might have made things worse." Beckman considered the matter. "If you insist on punishing yourself, though, I have an assignment for you."

"What's that?"

"Someone needs to tell Mr. Grimes."

* * *

Waking was like falling into quicksand, not something he wanted to do but fighting it just made it worse. Chuck pulled the moment of Gaez' death out of his memory, not that he wanted to remember it. Forgetting it would be worse, though, not for Gaez' sake but for his own.

Something, someone, made a noise. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed…

"Good morning, Chuck."

Crap. Chuck opened his eyes. "Doc, we gotta stop meeting like this."

* * *

"Hello, Diane."

Aaand her day was complete, distorted voice and all. "Good morning, Orion," she said, attempting to be civil. However bad her day was, his day had to be worse. And he'd blame her for it, too, even though it was all Chuck's choice. "Back to your usual purple pixels, I see." She opened the drawer for her glasses.

"You're wasting my time."

The voice was firm, authoritative. The figure, that familiar silhouette, was still, with none of the old hacker's relentless twitching. "Who are you?" asked Beckman.

The distorted voice had no answers for her. "What is wrong with Sarah Walker?"


	49. Haven

**A/N** Back when I was an undergrad Philosophy major, I did a paper on the subject of horror, and what's makes a monster. That was where I concluded that only men can be monsters. Vampires, zombies, werewolves, yes. Giant spiders, no. Well, maybe yes, but mainly because with giant spiders men are the food, another category men don't usually belong in.

The last line of this story, and Sarah's silence in general, is inspired by the movie Andrei Rublev, about the Russian monk and iconographer. At one point in the movie he murders a Hun to save a holy person, and takes a vow of silence that lasted for 12 years, until he found his miracle of forgiveness. Fortunately Sarah didn't have to wait so long.

* * *

Moscow, just a few hours ago…

"I must say, you've looked better," said Alexei, his voice an avalanche. He touched the growing bruise on her cheek, gentle as a butterfly settling.

Frost flinched.

He pulled his hand back, as she expected.

"I've _been_ better too," she said, her voice slightly off-center. "If it hadn't been for Miss Babkin–you will remember to give her that bonus…?"

"Of course," said Alexei, "And more. If not for her Miss Walker might have taken you from me–"

Vivian chose that moment to insert herself into the charming reunion. "Now do you see why I wanted her taken care of, Father? She's simply too dangerous."

"I agree," said Volkoff, happily. That's what made chess played with live pieces so much more exciting than ordinary chess.

Vivian struck while her iron was hot. "Then shall I order her termination?"

Volkoff turned to Frost. "What say you, Frost? It is you who have borne the whips and scorns of time tonight."

Frost gave every outward appearance of thinking it over. "Agent Walker has always been dangerous, Alexei," said Frost. "She's still the same grenade she always was, but something happened last night that made her explode closer to hand than we expected."

"Gaez?"

Frost shook her head. Once. "No, we caught signals that he was dead in his club. Apparently it looked like a war zone, but she's made many of those before."

Volkoff went behind his desk, and activated his largest monitor, calling up footage from the plane. "Two in one night?" He hit rewind, and they watched as the clock moved backward, undoing the destruction. Frost remembered some of it, dimly. Alexei hummed along as his plane rebuilt itself, stopping as Sarah leapt backward into the aft section. "So you finally found someone as formidable as you." He moved it forward again, watching as Sarah said something before she leaped at Frost. "What did she say?"

Frost knew better than to lie to the Boss. "It won't come off."

Alexei paid people to ponder riddles like that. "What is 'it', and why won't it come off?"

"I have no idea," she said, with complete honesty. _But I'm going to find out._ "I propose we keep Miss Walker contained here, until I can find out what happened. We have any number of uses for a hand grenade, we can throw her away at any time. We just have to duck faster."

"And if she comes back to us again?" asked Vivian.

Frost shrugged. Once. "Then we keep on throwing her until she doesn't."

Alexei restarted the video, for the third time. Apparently this was a _Yes._

Frost knew every second, inside and out. She had no desire to see it again, or the open hunger in Alexei's eyes as he did. "May I be excused, Sir?"

Alexei waved a hand negligently, absorbed. "Carry on, Frost."

* * *

Vivian didn't bother to excuse herself, not that her father would have noticed anyway. "Frost," she said, stopping the older woman in her tracks.

Frost turned. "Yes, ma'am?" she asked, ever mindful of her honorifics.

Vivian quite liked being a 'Ma'am', rather than a 'Miss'. She strode up close, kept her voice low, intimate, just in case there were any microphones. "Something must be done about that woman, for both our sakes."

Delicately put. "I understand."

Vivian smiled. "Make it happen."

"Yes, ma'am," said Frost to her back.

* * *

Washington DC, in a certain familiar CIA holding facility…

"Chuck, I want you to know up front that you are in no way a prisoner here. You're free to go, if you like," said Doctor Dreyfus.

Chuck looked at the door, standing open. "You mean that?"

"Of course I do," said Leo. "The therapy is mandatory, as is the time out of the field, but something tells me you won't be all that upset if you never go back into it again."

Chuck looked at his hands. _I have the power. I have the responsibility._ "Sarah's out there, Doc."

 _Hands_ , wrote Leo. What is in his hands, or on them? "She'll come back to you, Chuck."

"Then why didn't she?"

"Tangled in cables, hanging from a skylight?" asked Dreyfus, deliberately misunderstanding Chuck's question. "Given the scenario, she had to know that anything that was going to happen would happen before she could free herself."

"So she just left?"

"What would have happened if she hadn't?" Dreyfus chuckled as his client turned red and started to fidget in his embarrassment. "Now you see her problem."

Chuck felt her problem, in every ache of his bones. So long, they'd been apart. He had his training to take his mind off it. What did she have? "Must be one hell of a mission."

"Alexei Volkoff _and_ your mother? I'd say so." Dreyfus turned the page on Sarah Bartowski, both literally and figuratively. "So, I think we can safely say you have a good reason to want to get back into the field, Chuck. Now let's try to get you there."

* * *

Frost sat up in her bed. She'd promised Alexei that she would take some painkillers and get some rest, and she had, if 'one' counts as 'some'. As for the rest, well, she never rested, why start now? She'd rest when she was dead, and Sarah had just reminded her in vivid purplish detail how easily that could happen.

If there was one thing Frost had learned in thirty years it was how to roll with the punches, and Agent Bartowski had thrown quite a few her way. Before she could roll, though, she needed to learn the lay of the land.

She got out of bed and logged on to her computer. If the issue ever came up, she would say she was investigating Agent Walker's strange behavior, and it would even be true. From the tower on her desk, she took out an old CD of balalaika music, a taste she'd cultivated years ago. She plopped the CD in the drive, upside-down.

A special, one-time-only program started. Her web cam and mike activated, not that anyone could have seen it from the outside. Even if they had, no one would have recognized it as a video-conference. Her screen erupted in purple pixels, rendering an unfamiliar silhouette. "Hello, Diane."

The silhouette jerked in surprise. Her husband's code bypassed the General's alerts, Frost recalled, just to tweak her tail. "Good morning, Orion," said General Beckman, surprisingly civil. "Back to your usual purple pixels, I see."

Frost made her point as clearly as she could in as few words as necessary. "You're wasting my time."

"Who are you?" asked Beckman, taking the hint.

Frost answered the question in her usual oblique fashion. "What is wrong with Sarah Walker?"

* * *

General Beckman's office, on the other end of this call...

 _Frost?_ For a moment sheer surprise drove every thought from Beckman's head, but her long career in coded double-speak came to her rescue. "We haven't managed to convince her, that your wagon-maker's work isn't as good as she thinks it is." If this communication ended now let that one message make it through. Frost could unpack it at leisure.

The response came back surprisingly quickly. "Understood. Send me an upgrade via Archer's Shipping. They know my taste in music."

 _Music?_ "Very good," said Beckman. "Her husband just joined your club, you know. At least one of his friends is very glad he did."

The screen went black.

* * *

Washington DC, John Casey's residence…

He knelt in his living room, seeking what little peace was available to him. One of his teachers had long ago sabotaged his life, telling him to seek a calm center that simply didn't exist. Under Chuck's 'tutelage' Casey had found his center, not calm but angry, the eye of a great and perpetual storm. His bonsai tree had since grown to become a frightening thing.

 _Perfect._

His TV trilled at him, a request, rather than a command. His curiosity aroused, he answered his commander's call.

The General had doffed her uniform jacket, technically out of uniform. "Colonel Casey, I apologize for interrupting your meditations."

He deliberately placed his implements in their tray, and set it all to one side. "Accepted but not required, ma'am."

"Thank you. I find I need something from you that I have never asked for before. I trust that you will keep this between us."

"Yes, ma'am. Whatever you require…Diane."

"Thank you, Colonel…John. I need…your faith."

"Faith in who?" Casey thought about his safe and the package inside. "I have no doubts about Agent Bartowski, if that's what you're asking–"

"It's not Chuck but his mother that I'm worried about. You once expressed strong belief in her loyalty, sight unseen. Do you still have that faith?"

She'd brought them the poison, betrayed them to Volkoff, and stolen Chuck's wife away. "More than ever, General."

She took a deep breath, as if inhaling his support from her screen. "I hope you're right, John. I very much hope you're right."

* * *

Dreyfus watched Chuck with great interest. His hands were everywhere. When the subject was Amy or Gaez, they were under his arms. When he talked about Agent Rizzo they were clasped together. While talking about Casey he leaned back on them, but sometimes they were tucked between his knees. Sometimes, not often, he stared at them.

Right now he was sitting on them. "So what are you saying, Doc, that sometimes it's right to kill?"

"No, Chuck, you misunderstood my point. I would never say that killing is right," said Dreyfus. "I would say that killing can sometimes be 'least wrong', although that's really a discussion for another time." 'Least' implied options, and 'not killing' was not an option, last night, just who would be killed. "You had to choose, under foul conditions, conditions that prevented a less fatal course of action, and you chose Agent Rizzo's life over Mr. Gaez. I can't say that it was _the_ , or even _a_ , right action, but I will say that it was the right choice."

"That part was easy," said Chuck. It hadn't seemed at all like a choice, at the time. "I'm glad I didn't have time to overthink it like I usually do, or I might not have done it. Choosing is easy but acting is hard."

"The _action_ was the choice, Chuck. Without action everything else is just words." Dreyfus' phone rang. After he took the short call, he said, "Well, I believe that's all the time we have for today. Your Colonel Casey is at the gate."

Chuck got off his hands, and put on his jacket. "When do you want me back?" he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"As you–or your sister–think you need it. Ask her, if you don't trust yourself."

* * *

"What's up Casey?" asked Chuck, as he got into Casey's classic battle-wagon.

Casey didn't answer until they were off the grounds. "The General needs us."

"So nothing's changed, then?"

 _Everything's changed, idiot._ "You have a good talk with the Doc?"

"I think so."

"Good."

"He had a very interesting perspective–"

Casey'd already had more than enough. He squeezed the steering wheel so hard the horn went off, and Chuck shut up in surprise. Casey stepped into the silence. "Look, Bartowski, my family is full of soldiers. The only perspective I ever needed came from them, and it's real simple. If you aren't prepared to fight, then you're ready to get beat. You didn't get beat, and I want to say I'm proud of you for that." He took his glare off the road, and turned it in Chuck. "And also that next time maybe you'll listen to your handler and puke in training, where you're supposed to."

Chuck snickered as Casey got back to his driving.

"What?" snarled the big man.

"Doc said you'd say that. He also said 'The middle of a firefight's no time to set up a blue ribbon commission full of people with perspectives.'"

Casey grunted his approval. "What can I say, the Doc's a smart man."

"He also told me about this great science fiction novel I think you'd like–"

That wasn't fair. Casey couldn't wince _or_ roll his eyes, he was driving. "Bartowski…"

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Russia…

Only her iron control kept Frost in her room, circling endlessly, rather than out on the grounds, circling endlessly. The last thing she wanted was for Alexei, and now Vivian as well, to have any reason to doubt her. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, or maybe sing the praises of whatever power in the Universe caused her connection to Beckman to end at just that moment.

What had Chuck done now?

Her husband, Sarah's husband, had joined her club. What club? The _spy_ club? Why would Chuck be in the spy club, he was her baby, he was a harmless bunny rabbit. Now if _Ellie_ had turned out to–Stop. Chuck. Club. Spy club.

Gaez' club?

'Won't', Sarah had said, not 'doesn't'. She should have known Sarah wasn't talking about herself.

Frost circled the room, like water afraid to go down that drain. Alice, afraid to go down that rabbit hole, knowing where it led. Not a land of wonders. For hours she twisted in silence, until her over worked body put her to bed. She'd be up soon enough, but hopefully by then she could interview Agent Walker without seeming too eager about it.

* * *

In the lab, not at home…

Ellie looked up when she heard the noise, heart pounding. Footsteps sounded as someone walked past her door. A large man. A woman. And…

And someone didn't walk past her door at all. Someone stood right outside, waiting, perhaps working up the courage, perhaps turning to flee. Ellie stood up, ready to run to the door when it pushed open. Chuck stood there, as if unsure of the welcome he would receive.

For a genius he could be pretty stupid sometimes.

"Chuck." Ellie walked up to him and took her little brother in her arms.

He hugged her tightly. "Hey, sis." Neither of them was sure who was shaking more. "I'm sorry."

"Shh, shh," said Ellie gently. "I don't blame you, I blame him. He gave you no choice."

Not entirely true. He had other choices, but they were all worse. The feel of his sister as she held him, the sound of her voice, the smell of her hair, steadied him as nothing else could. "You remember all those stories you used to tell me about your time on the surgical unit?"

"Yeah?"

"Now I get it."

"Sucks, huh?"

"Yeah." He pulled back. "But at least I took a monster off the streets."

Ellie frowned. "Don't forget he was also a man, Chuck."

"I won't forget, El. I can't. But it's like the Doc said, only men can _be_ monsters."

* * *

Frost's room, much later than she expected…

She overslept. The one night she wanted to wake early was the one night the nightmares decided to make her stay.

As always, she made even that delay work for her. On her outer patrol, she looked both thoughtful and fierce. She noticed everything and forgave nothing. Her inner patrol was slightly better, since she got a chance to smile at Miss Babkin, starting her first shift in the mansion.

Finally she fetched up outside Sarah's door, and went in without knocking, like a jailer would. Agent Walker lay inside, still in her leathers, still strapped to the gurney they'd used to take her off the plane. She looked peaceful, angelic, a once-upon-a-time-blonde sleeping princess waiting for her kiss. "Agent Walker?"

Sarah opened her eyes, the only part of her that moved.

Frost decided to keep it short, if not sweet. "It won't come off, Sarah, but at least Chuck got something for his pains. I spoke with your boss, she said he saved his partner, I'm assuming that's Casey."

Frost paused, but Sarah made no sound, no motion, nothing to step into the deliberate conversational vacuum. A single tear slid from her eye down the side of her head, and Frost leaned in close to wipe it away. "I know."

Frost sat back, her fingers rubbing, smearing Sarah's tear all over themselves, the closest she'd been to real tears in a very long time. "What happened last night, Sarah? What did you see?"

Once Frost could have read whole mission reports from Sarah's face, but not now. Sarah's face was as smooth and unreadable as a mirror, telling Frost only the things that she told it first. "Agent Walker," she said gently, "Report."

Sarah opened her mouth, moved her lips…and spoke volumes of silence into the world.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N** A little bit lighter for a bit. They've gone through a lot of stuff lately, so this chapter gives them some downtime, including a flash-face competition.

* * *

Ellie and Chuck joined the rest of the team in Manoosh's old cave, the only room large enough for all of them to gather at once. Her desk had a communicator, but she wanted her brother to be with his friends gathered around him.

"Hey, Chuck," said Carina, and everyone else were just as matter-of-fact. Well, maybe not Manoosh, but the screen lit before he could say much.

"Good afternoon, team," said General Beckman. "This meeting will be short, just to bring everyone up to speed on the latest developments. First things first…Manoosh, you should have received some miniature electronics for study. They were found by Agent Rizzo, on the floor under the skylight in Rio."

Manoosh nodded and opened his mouth, but Chuck asked "Something Sarah dropped?" before he could say anything.

"We think so, Chuck. There were some crystalline fragments in the box as well. I've given them to a materials analysis team for study. Manoosh, you'll begin your examination after this meeting."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Moving on. Not long ago, I received a direct communication from Frost." She held up a hand against the resulting tumult. "The first thing she wanted to know was what was wrong with Agent Walker."

Chuck stood up. He couldn't help it. "Something's wrong with Sarah?"

"Sit down, Mr. Bartowski," commanded the General, and Chuck obeyed reluctantly. "Your theory on the flight to Brazil was clever, but it didn't go far enough. If the tracking nanos didn't make it into Sarah's bloodstream then neither did the liquid they were immersed in."

"The antitoxin."

Ellie jumped in. "General, were any trials conducted on the effectiveness of the antidote when absorbed through the skin?"

"Gather your team and conduct them, Doctor." That was a 'No'.

"That will take time, General."

"We have that time, Ellie. The second thing Frost said was to send her some of the antitoxin. Given the delicacy of her situation, it may be some time before we can make that happen."

"Can we trust her?" asked Carina.

"Yes," said Beckman, not looking at Casey.

"But why?" said Carina. "She's betrayed us three times already. She shot her own son, then kidnapped him, and then kidnapped his wife."

"She gave is the toxin and the guy who made it," said Casey. "She didn't shoot Chuck until after she'd touched his coat and verified that he was wearing a vest under it. As for Sarah, she took an opportunity to embed her in Volkoff's organization when Chuck was taken by the Belgian, a more plausible scenario than anything we could have whipped up ourselves. If you can think of a better way to focus Chuck's attention on Volkoff I'd like to know what it is."

"Then explain the panel to me," said Carina. "Why would she show Chuck that panel, cripple her own son, and help Volkoff escape when you had him on the ground?"

How many nights had he sat in his apartment, wondering the same thing? "I can't, but that doesn't mean there's no reason, just that I can't see it."

"But I think I can," said Ellie.

* * *

"Well, Frost, any word on or from Miss Walker?" asked Alexei, sounding mildly interested.

"Not a word, not a sound, not a peep," said Frost. "I've tried everything I can think of."

"How about a hatpin?" asked Vivian.

"Something like that, yes," said Frost. _Only not so crass._ "I sent her to lunch in the mess, and shifted the guards' schedule back an hour. And I told them why."

Volkoff winced. "You did put away the good china, I trust?"

"Paper plates only," she assured him. "Agent Walker was harassed, insulted, poked, prodded, hit, kicked, punched, stabbed, choked, and beaten. The only sound that came out of her was the sound of her breathing."

Vivian just had to know. "What did you do with the body?"

"I sent her to take a bath," said Frost. "The guards who were still conscious finished their lunch and did double duty for those who weren't." Frost looked thoughtful for a second. "On the plus side, they all seem to have decided to let bygones be bygones."

"She blinded a man!" said Vivian.

"The general consensus is that he stuck his hand in a meat grinder." Frost reconsidered her words. "Well, it is _now_." Back to Volkoff. "The downside, sir, is that none of the men will have anything to do with her at all, now."

"There's a pity," said Alexei.

"Get rid of her," said Vivian.

"Not just yet. If you're both done with her, I'll use her as my sparring partner," said Frost. "I haven't had a workout like the one she gave me on the plane in a long time, and I'm getting soft. I'll get rid of Sarah Walker when I'm strong enough to do it with my bare hands."

Volkoff chuckled and turned away. "As you will, Frost."

* * *

Back at the briefing…

Ellie's announcement took everyone by surprise.

"Ellie? You have new information?" asked Beckman, who wasn't really in favor of surprises, as a rule.

"No, General," said Ellie, "I just had a flash of my own."

"Is that what they look like?" asked Beckman.

"Absolutely not," said Carina, who'd seen one whole flash in her life and so was an expert. "They look more like this." Her face twisted and her eyes started fluttering, like a woman sneezing in mid-orgasm.

"Do that in private, Miller," snarled Casey. "You're scaring the children."

"Then let's see you do one," challenged the redhead.

Casey frowned at her and curled his lip in a silent sneer.

"I'm waiting."

"You want me to do it again?" said Casey.

"General?" asked Hannah softly.

Beckman just shook her head. A little stress-relief was in order.

"That wasn't a flash," said Manoosh with a sneer. "This is a flash." His face went slack and his eyelids fluttered.

"You're not flashing," said Carina, "You're just imagining me naked."

Chuck started bonking his head against the table.

"Agent Miller," said Beckman in a much-put-upon voice.

Chuck's head hit something softer than the table. Opening his eyes, he saw Ellie's hand. "Stop it," she said.

"That was so a flash," said Manoosh. "Chuck, back me up here, buddy."

Everyone's attention turned to Chuck. His face went slack and his eyelids fluttered.

Manoosh pointed triumphantly. "See?"

"I don't know," said Beckman, "His seemed like the phoniest of the lot."

"That was a flash, General," said Chuck in surprise.

"Are you sure?" asked Beckman. "It's not like you'd be able see one from the outside."

"No, General," said Chuck, "I meant…that was a flash."

* * *

Frost heard the sound of the music long before she got close enough to identify it. One of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, Winter from the sound of it. _How appropriate._

She opened the door without warning. Agent Walker sat in a chair by the window, reading. Possibly the first time in decades that any of those books had ever been opened.

Frost crossed the room to her guest/prisoner, reaching for the volume control even as she bent to speak into Sarah's ear. "The case is gone, did you give it to Chuck?" She turned down the volume as Sarah shook her head.

Lost. Found? Strayed? Well, nothing for it now. "You've quite worn out your welcome, Miss Walker," said Frost, for the benefit of whatever microphones might be listening. "Alexei was tolerably amused by you but I assure I am not. To me you are useful. The second either of those conditions changes, we will find a convenient war zone and drop you in it. Is that quite clear?"

Sarah nodded.

"Good," said Frost, wondering how long before it would occur to anyone to put in visual monitors. "Get dressed. We're going for a run, and I expect your best." _Only your best._

* * *

 _Is that what they look like?_ "A real flash?"

"Yes, General," said Chuck, as Ellie made a hand signal. Manoosh got up.

Beckman noted the byplay but ignored it. "On what?"

"Um…nothing, General."

That was strange enough that Ellie was able to tell Manoosh to bring the scanner up and still get a word in edgewise. "How is that possible, Chuck? Dad said that the Intersect needs a seed to work with. How can you flash on nothing?"

"I don't know, sis, but…Have you ever had a sneeze that just sort of… _tingled_ at the back of your nose but never came forward enough to actually sneeze?"

Casey suddenly pushed back from the table. "I swear, Bartowski, if you give me one of those…"

"It's not my plan, Casey," said Chuck. "I'm just saying that that's sort of like how I've been feeling, ever since Mom showed me that panel."

"Speaking of panels, Ellie, what was that theory of yours?"

"I'd tell you, General, but right now my theory is even more theoretical than usual." She stood up, seizing the initiative. "We need to get Chuck into the lab to see what this development means."

"Best be about it, then," said Beckman, with a flick of her fingers. "The rest of you, we have plans to make."

"Dammit," muttered Casey as he watched them go.

"You watch," said Hannah. "it'll be a month before we hear anything about this theory of hers."

"At least," amended the General.

Carina sighed. "Typical."

* * *

Chuck, being a gentleman, held the door open for his sister, and saw what was on her desk. "Wait a minute, Ellie, is that a Roarke Seven? How'd you get that?"

"Dad's car." Her brother gave her his patented blank stare. "Oh, that's right, you weren't there for that part." She laughed, music to his ears. "You remember Devon's dancing teddy bear?"

Talk about ancient history, that was back in…another life. "Yeah, sis, I remember." As usual, he was drawn toward the technology.

"Mom left you that photo album, which was full of pictures of me in Dad's old car. Long story short, we found the car in LA, well, Manoosh did."

Manoosh hit the jamb, breathless from his short run across the hall. "Somebody call my name?"

Ellie resolved to start him on an exercise program. "Just telling Chuck about the Roarke. Is the scanner ready?"

"Oh, yeah," said Manoosh, nodding, and remembering the glory of his triumph. "I found it while I was driving the car back. Took me three days to get it working."

"And he ran smack into one of Dad's arcane word puzzles as a password, _and_ tried to answer it."

Manoosh drooped. "Come on."

Chuck recognized an Ellie-punishment when he saw one. He sat down, tracing his fingers lightly over the grooves cut into the case. "What was the puzzle?"

"'Knock, knock'," said Ellie.

The answer popped into Chuck's head faster than the question. "So it was intended for you." He lifted the lid. "What's on it?"

"Don't do–"

The screen flashed green light into his face.

"–that."

Chuck blinked, momentarily blinded by the light, but it passed. "What was that?"

"Dunno," said Manoosh. "But it happens every time we open it."

Ellie walked over to her desk, clipboard in hand. "Honestly, can't you boys ever keep your hands to yourselves?" She pushed the lid down again, and pointed at the low stool where she gathered her biometrics. "Sit. Manoosh, get me an ice cube for my stethoscope, please."

Chuck pulled his shirt tight around him as Manoosh left. "Come on, sis, what's so hush-hush? That looked like a brain scan."

"That was a–" She stopped talking, and got an evil glint in her eye. "You know what, I'm not going to tell you." She yelled toward the door, "Manoosh, forget the ice cube."

Chuck unbuttoned his shirt. "You're evil, you know that?"

Manoosh didn't come back, with or without an ice cube, having seen Chuck shirtless before and not being thrilled then either. Once she'd poked and prodded him to her satisfaction, Chuck walked into the Intersect room and found him there, checking the scanner readouts while listening to music. "What's this?" he asked, waving a hand in the air.

"The thing," said Manoosh mysteriously. "For the thing."

 _Oh yeah, the thing_. Chuck listened for a bit. Nice. "Sounds good. And you kept at it without me? Thanks, man."

"Forget it, us nerds have to stick together," said Manoosh, shaking his head. "No thanks necessary. And besides, you just saved my ass in there, so we're even."

Chuck absently got into his chair as he considered Manoosh's puzzle. Like father, like son. And, like nerd. "You really _were_ imagining Carina naked, weren't you?"

Manoosh hit the release and the chair tipped back. "Well, _duh_."

* * *

"Okay, Chuck, are you ready?" asked Ellie over the speakers of the weapon room.

Chuck moved and flexed, limbering up. "I'm fine, El, but I gotta tell you, Manoosh is starting to freak me out a little. Are you sure we can't get Casey or Carina for this part?"

"It'll be good for you, little brother," said Ellie, with Beckman's comments about baseball in the back of her mind. "Someday you'll be up against a scared kid in an alley, so you should know how to handle it. Manoosh?"

"Aah!" He flinched.

"Hey!"

"Chuck?"

"Told you he was jumpy."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, El," said Chuck, when Manoosh failed to respond. "But you should be glad the skills are reflexive again. And we'll need another knife, or a stepladder. You still want to do the katana test?" No answer. "Sis?"

"What?" She sounded distracted.

"Very sharp Japanese broadsword in the hands of a very jittery subordinate?"

"No. No, get back here."

Chuck cut short his _Oh thank God_ with a "What's up, sis?" as Manoosh tried three times to put the blade back in its sheath.

"Dad's computer. It's beeping."

* * *

Frost and Sarah ran. The forest around Volkoff's compound had several trails, pounded flat by the passage of guards' feet at regular intervals. The ground barely noticed the passage of the two women, faster and lighter by far. Sarah should have had the advantage, but Frost knew the terrain and she was shorter, so the trees bothered her less. "Up ahead," she said, to the rhythm of her breathing, "We dive."

The main trail curved to the right but they didn't follow it. The ground, ahead rose but they didn't slow. At the crest they both leapt into space and dove into a pond, neither deep nor broad, but a good and sudden cool-down for the two agents. Frost immediately started swimming to the far side, with a surprisingly clumsy stroke that made lots of noise while keeping her head above the water. "You're not the cavalry I'd hoped for," she said, once she'd got her breath back, "But you're all I've got so you'll have to do."

Sarah couldn't respond in any way, given the circumstances, but Frost sensed the question that had to be at the top of her mind.

"I'm losing control of Alexei Volkoff."

* * *

Ellie sat at her desk, waiting, but not for long.

Chuck and Manoosh hit the jamb simultaneously, but Chuck was in much better shape. "You're going to open it?"

"Yes," said Ellie, glasses in hand. "Here."

They put on the protective lenses and watched as she lifted the lid to the sinister machine. Nothing flashed at her this time. The screen was almost completely black. Almost.

"What's that?" asked Manoosh. The two men moved forward for a better view.

"Another puzzle," said Ellie, standing up. "It says 'one or eleven'."

Chuck moved in as Ellie backed away. "Something tells me this one's meant for me."

"You know which one?" asked Manoosh.

Chuck shook his head. "It's not either one, it's both."

"Huh?"

Chuck looked up at his sister, for her permission, her support, or just because. Ellie smiled. "Aces, Charles. Just…aces."

Chuck typed in the phrase his father so often used. Ellie and Manoosh watched as light played across his face. Not a lot of light, not moving very fast, and the barrage ended far too quickly.

"Chuck, are you all right?" she asked, when Chuck didn't immediately react. "What kind of upload was that?"

Chuck looked up, not dazed, just confused. "It wasn't an upload at all, sis, just pictures," he said, reaching for the keyboard. "Somebody called Agent X."


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N** One of my biggest goals in revising S4 was to make the history of Volkoff and Frost as coherent as possible.

* * *

In Russia...

Sarah gave Frost a strong hand to hold as she climbed up the bank of the pond, but she refused to let go once the older woman reached level ground.

"Got your attention, did I?" said Frost, only trying to get her hand back once.

Sarah squeezed.

"No need to shout," said Frost, squeezing back. "I have every intention of telling you what you need to know, but we have to get going. Alexei knows my time on this route pretty well."

* * *

In Washington DC...

"Agent X?" said General Beckman, cursing herself for thinking things were going so well. "There are no hints to his, or her, identity?"

"No, ma'am," said Ellie. "I've got Chuck comparing the files now, but while the scans match the new data, there's nothing in here with a name. I'm even assuming it's a man based purely on the scan data."

"And we're sure that these files were not some kind of upload?"

"Positive, General. He had on the glasses, the files haven't erased themselves from the computer, and we ran him under the scanner a second time. Chuck's using his other skill set as an electrical and computer engineer, looking for coding anomalies, abnormal byte patterns, things I would never see. As far as we can tell these are just files."

"Then why were they sent to Chuck specifically?"

"I have a theory on that…"

Beckman smiled tightly. She hadn't forgotten the last theory Ellie'd had, which she'd left dangling over everyone's heads. "I thought you might."

"Dad said the program needed a seed to form an intersect event around. I'm thinking that these files, now that they've been seen by him, are meant to be such a seed."

For what fruit? "You want to do an upload."

"I think we may have to. Unless we plan to never use Chuck in that capacity again…?"

"Not at all, Eleanor, in fact just the opposite. Manoosh's glasses make it possible to use your brother in a field capacity while still enabling him to perform limited Intersect duties. We need him more than ever."

"He's just one man, General."

"I'm aware of that, Doctor," said Beckman, "An extraordinary man, with an extraordinary team. But that's not my point. We also know that your father tried to destroy Chuck, at least as far as the Intersect was concerned. How do we know these files aren't some kind of booby-trap?"

As if that mattered. "Firstly, we won't include these files in the dataset. Second, Sarah's not here, General, but my father couldn't have expected that when he arranged for me to get this box, and he's not suicidal. She hunted him to the ends of the Earth just for trying."

Not to mention that, if it was a booby-trap, it was already too late. Beckman appreciated Ellie's polite dance around that obvious truth. "That second reason reassures me more, to be honest."

"Me, too," said Ellie.

"You would do a full upload, I assume?"

"Yes, General. If there is a data-related hazard, which I doubt, I want to find it now." Chuck wasn't the only one who'd apologized to her, but Casey's self-perceived fault was his lack of action in Prague, rather than any action in Rio. Ellie understood the goal, but she didn't see any fault that he'd failed to achieve it. Her brother could be slippery.

"Understood. Very well, Doctor, keep me apprised."

"Thank you, General." Ellie looked away as Beckman killed the screen. "Manoosh, start encoding the full dataset."

"On it."

* * *

Back in Russia...

For a little while, they ran in silence, until they'd established a rhythm.

"Long ago," said Frost suddenly, "Before Chuck was born, my husband and his partner, _not_ Ted Roarke, were finally making progress on their greatest project. A machine to make learning obsolete. It wasn't the Intersect, that monstrosity hadn't even been thought of. The CIA was interested enough in the original design to offer funding and protection. That's how Stephen and I met." Frost smiled, and Sarah smiled along with her.

"When the original funding ran out, they had to demonstrate something, and all they really had was proof of concept, the prototype was in the prototype stages. They needed something for the committee. Hartley came up with the idea of demonstrating an implanted memory, something the men on the board could understand better than the code and the math. I got them a piece of a report, a confession about a massacre in Russia. Hartley uploaded it and…talked about 'his' massacre in great detail, such venom, such joy…and in Russian. This man we knew so well, mild-mannered, kind, suddenly channeling a vicious murderer for a few seconds. He even threw up at the end. Everybody congratulated them on their success."

Frost ran on silently, for a time.

"Of course the funding followed. Prototypes were developed. Hartley, already a successful guinea pig, tested them all. Presidents, statesmen, leaders. A more positive experience, we thought. We were wrong."

* * *

Back in Washington...

His screen trilled a request, and Manoosh accepted the connection.

"Hi, Manoosh."

"Hey, Hannah. What's up?"

"Nothing much," she replied. "I've heard so much about these uploads, I just wanted to see what all the fuss is about. The General didn't think it was a great idea, but she didn't forbid it either."

"Oh, well, there's not a lot to see, but I'm certainly not going to chase you away." She was so pretty, and nice. She looked nice, and acted nice. He bet she smelled nice too. Not that he'd ever met her, or ever would. "I don't know what happens in there, and I don't want to. The only person who's ever seen the whole thing and lived is Agent Charles. It's supposed to be like watching a lot of pictures, really fast."

"That would give me a headache."

"It gives him one, that's for sure."

"Upload commencing," said Ellie formally.

Nothing seemed to be happening. Manoosh pointed at the little progress bar in the corner of the screen. "The most important thing right now are the biometrics," he said. "That's her department. I encode the datasets, monitor the hardware, power consumption, that sort of thing, but the multiple redundancies in the room don't give me anything to do until after." The progress bar reached its end and vanished. "The real excitement comes in a few minutes, after he recovers from the upload. That's when he gets to work, and the fingers start to fly." Manoosh waggled his fingers to the monitor.

"Manoosh, I do analysis, okay? Believe me, the fingers don't–" she waggled her fingers back at him "– _fly_."

A window popped up between them, transparent, with a sentence she had to strain to read, the letters backward and fuzzy.

Manoosh made a little _hmp_ of surprise. "He's early today."

A second sentence popped up under the first. Then a third.

"Holy crap," said Hannah.

"There's a bit of a backlog," said Manoosh.

Suddenly the page started scrolling. Hannah stopped smiling.

"God, I feel like such a dinosaur," she said. Maybe Beckman was right, this was a bad idea.

"Don't," said Manoosh, who liked her smile. She was one of the few women who smiled at him and meant it.

"Why not?"

"The Intersect doesn't run on raw data, any more than a race car can run on the sludge they pump out of the ground. All of this," he gestured with a hand at the screen, "Isn't a replacement for what you do, it's a distillation, a refinement. It's an apotheosis, for God's sake."

She laughed at the hyperbole. Mission accomplished.

"I certainly can't type that fast," said Hannah, who didn't have the typist skills encoded into the Intersect.

"I can't even _read_ that fast," said Manoosh.

Hannah could, if she caught something at the bottom of the screen and followed it up. One set of words popped up fairly often. "Why are there so many references to someone called 'Big Lou'?"

* * *

Russia again...

Frost stopped running. Sarah, taken unaware, stopped too, a few paces ahead. She turned and looked back.

Frost stood in the path, tears running down her cheeks. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are, Sarah?"

As Frost watched, the apparent placidity of Sarah's face gave way to the true turmoil underneath, a glimpse into a hell of equally violent extremes. Not the hell Frost was familiar with.

Sarah pounced, but Frost had had quite enough of being the younger woman's punching bag. She rolled with it, and flipped Sarah onto the dirt and leaves. Sarah swung a looping right hook. Frost ducked, slammed her fist into Sarah's gut, then shoved her into a tree. "You heard me. Lucky!"

Sarah threw a blind elbow, drilling Frost in the jaw. The black-haired blonde whipped around and followed it with a left hook that laid Frost among the forest debris herself.

Frost kicked out, and both women were down, rising to their feet in attack positions. "You never had to watch a friend…change, into something he wasn't," said Frost savagely. "Never had to take a hit order on someone you knew."

Sarah blinked, and stepped back.

 _Interesting._ Frost filed that observation away with all the others, wiping a bit of blood off her lip. "Yes, I took the order. The easiest way to delay the hit is to be the hitter. Stephen was working on a way to remove the memories from Hartley's mind, and I trusted him to get it to me before I had to take that shot." Frost sagged. "Then Roarke came, forcing Stephen into hiding, and left me in Russia with no way to account for my actions."

Sarah walked over, limping slightly, and took her mother-in-law's hand. Not exactly a hand up, or out, but at least neither of them was alone.

Frost nodded, not quite up to a smile. "The CIA abandoned me, but not Stephen. We kept to our plan, but with Roarke constantly looking for him, I had to buy time. Hartley's trust in me made him the perfect tool to smash people the CIA could only dream of smashing. His empire is built on a mountain of bodies. Bad guy bodies, for the most part." It was the lesser part that woke her up at night. The ghosts of innocents, wondering why their sacrifice was still in vain.

Frost turned and walked away, the only thing she could do, and Sarah followed. "Then your team wiped out Fulcrum, and Stephen began to make real progress. Just in time, too, since you wiped out the Ring, giving Hartley an opportunity to expand that I'd been secretly denying him for years. Stephen broke cover to tell me about his new device, and I used Hartley's obsession with all things Bartowski to get him to LA. If Chuck hadn't gotten in my way I could have ended the threat of Volkoff right there." If she could have gotten past her son to use it, when the only way to get past her son _was_ to use it. She'd abused his trust at least one time too many.

Frost sighed out an ocean of frustrated dreams. "Just as well, I suppose. I was ready to give up on Hydra just to come home." Abandon her duty for family. Let the Intersect reconstruct the data. "Instead, I only put everyone I cared about in greater danger, and now, well…here you are. And here _she_ is."

* * *

"Just doing my bit for the public good, General," said Chuck.

"I'm sure the Oregon State Police appreciate your contributions, Mr. Bartowski. Now if we could return to the topic at hand…"

"Yes, ma'am, uh, okay, I have these coordinates for you." A string of digits came onto the screen. "They can map to a number of places depending on the order they're put in, but the one I'd start with is this one." A map popped up on the screen, with several bright points on it, but the only one that blinked was situated in England.

"That looks familiar," said Casey.

"That's because it is familiar," said Chuck. "The location is somewhere in Somerset. As soon as we can get a satellite overhead we can get a real-time look at the exact site. Once we have that information, we can plan our insertion–"

"Mr. Bartowski–" She was about to yell at him, he could tell. "The British are our allies."

"You'd trust them with this, General? I don't even trust _us_ with this. This is stuff hidden by my father, who is a world-class hider of stuff. He actually won the Olympic Hide-and-Seek event in 1964, but no one found him to tell him until '73."

Beckman almost smiled at that. "I get your point, Chuck, and I agree this information is best kept closely held. That is why the initial investigations of this data will be carried out by Manoosh and Hannah."

Six minds thought it, but only one had the temerity to actually say it. "General?"

"Government regulations force me to keep Chuck benched until his mandatory therapy is completed."

"Oh." The whole group sagged. Neither Casey nor Carina even mentioned doing the mission without him.

"However, his primary therapist, Dr. Dreyfus, believes that Chuck will benefit from a more active form of therapy. We believe it would be best to return you to your interrupted training in–well, not in Prague."

"Why not Prague, General?" He liked Prague.

"Because your next module is in the Inducement and Infiltration of Enemy Personnel, and your instructor believes in teaching by example. You and your team will meet Roan Montgomery in Marrakesh."

"My team?" said Chuck. "I don't understand."

Beckman took pity on him. "In training missions of this sort there is always the possibility that things will go sideways, in fact, with Roan involved I'd plan on it, but you cannot become involved, Mr. Bartowski. Your team is there to make sure you don't have to be. I'm sure I can count on their support and cooperation."

Both Casey and Carina gave firm, if smiling, nods.

"In other words," said the General, "Stay in the car, Chuck."

* * *

Alexei waited at the door as Sarah and Frost staggered into the compound, long since alerted by guards trained to Frost's exacting standards of their slow progress. Sarah was limping along, an arm thrown over Frost's shoulders. Frost had a word with a servant, who hurried off.

Volkoff looked them over. "Don't tell me you've already broken your new toy."

Frost scoffed. "Hardly. I give my sneakers a harder workout. Just a little quality girl time with my new BFF."

"I thought she was supposed to be your new sparring partner," said Vivian, walking up behind her father.

Volkoff chuckled. "To Frost they're practically the same thing."

Vivian sniffed. "Well," she said, pulling a leaf from Frost's hair, "This gives new meaning to 'fighting dirty'."

"I thought you were teaching her better than that," said Frost to Alexei.

"I knew I never should have let her be educated in the decadent West," said Volkoff in return. "Vivian, what have I told you about business?"

She rolled her eyes and recited dutifully, "That it's like war, Father."

"And what's the third best way to win a war, or succeed in business?"

"As messily and effectively as possible, so that your defeated enemy will never try to challenge you again."

Volkoff shook his head admiringly. "Those Romans, really have to hand it to them, they knew what they were about." He wiped at a smudge on Frost's cheek, but only made it smudgier. "Fighting is a dirty business, it's supposed to be, otherwise anyone will think they can play."

"Fine," said Vivian, tired of being lectured over every little thing. "Stables are abound back, have them hose her down thoroughly."

A servant, Vivian couldn't tell which, came up with a cane for Agent Walker. Frost released Sarah's arm and the taller woman stood easily. "This isn't England, Miss Volkoff." They had no stables there.

Alexei turned to his daughter as Sarah shuffled past them toward her room and its shower. "Do you miss your horse, Vivian? We could certainly have her brought out here, if you'd like."

The thought of Artemis gave Vivian a pang of regret. She'd loved to ride, but Father told her she just enjoyed the feeling of control, and he was right, as always. She thought of white ceilings and shuddered. "No, Father. What's past is past." She had to learn to control in this world now.

Volkoff beamed. "That's my girl! Jettison what will not serve." He offered her his arm. "Come." She took it gladly. "Let's go and seize the day, to secure the future. _Your_ future." As they left he tossed a jaunty "Carry on, Frost" over his shoulder.

Frost stood there watching them go, listening to the wind, like the sands of time running out. "Sir."

* * *

In a hotel bar in Marrakesh…

"You think it'll work any better because a General said it?" asked Casey.

Carina sipped from her champagne flute full of ginger ale. "Maybe if we had a car…?"

Casey grunted a negative. "Dream on." He checked the angled mirror that let him watch the bar, and the two men seated there. The younger one stared at his glass. The older one lifted his glass in a toast to someone that Casey would have to turn around to see.

"Looks like our mark," said Carina, watching through a different mirror and facing that direction.

"Wonderful." Casey listened to her description, his eyes searching among the various mirrors for a glimpse. Then he checked the first mirror again. "Where's Montgomery?"

"I think he went to the little spy's room," said Carina.

"I did, Agent Miller," said Roan in his smooth baritone from a position where neither of them could see him, "But if you'd lived through as many live-fire exercises as I have you'd have learned the secrets I've learned. They're very handy for buying an extra minute or two where no one expects you, especially at my age. Colonel, you need to have a word or two with your colleague."

Had to be Chuck, everybody else was over here. "What about?"

"It negates the purpose of the exercise when he keeps saying 'I wish Sarah was here' into his whiskey."

Well, at least he's not moaning about Gaez. "How many has he had?"

"Just one."

Casey smirked into his own glass of Diet Coke. "There's a guy who can't hold his liquor."

"That's not it, Casey," said Carina. "He's pulling a 'Lonely Guy' con."

"A what?"

"Look."

Casey checked the mirror. Chuck was surrounded by three women, flattering and flirting, now that he was alone. Chuck was smiling back, but they were having to work at it.

"So that's the 'Lonely Guy', eh?" said Roan. "I've never had occasion to use that."

"How could you?" muttered Carina to her ginger ale.

"Use the prop, Charles," said Roan.

As if on cue, Chuck stood up, pulling a perfectly-faked hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and dropping it on the bar. The ladies all cooed at his largesse, and he tossed back his drink with flair. Suddenly he sagged to the floor and two of the ladies grabbed him, holding him upright with surprising ease.

"I see what you mean about the booze," said Roan.

The third woman gestured peremptorily and her comrades followed her out, carrying Chuck between them.

"Great," snarled Casey, rising to follow. "Just when you get him to stay in the car they steal the damn car!"


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N** One of my favorite chapters, strangely enough, with one of my own favorite scenes, Chuck seducing the guard in his own unique way. I didn't plan to have Roan carry around an arsenal of Q-ish high-tech gear, but once it occurred to me I was hooked. Roan was such a Bond-style spy it seemed natural. I love his style, he's my favorite good-guy guest star.

* * *

In Marrakesh…

Casey, Carina, and Roan left their hastily-acquired CIA-issued vehicle behind, approaching Fatima Tazi's fortress on foot. While modeled on a fortress in the classic style, the low walls were more decorative than functional, with emphasis given to electronic surveillance over the human guards, who were there either for show or for punishment duty.

In other words, a piece of cake.

Removing a regulator chip from Roan's nose-hair trimmer, they used the resulting high-powered laser to slice through the metal bars of an grate covering an outflow tunnel, just a handy alternate entrance at this time of year. The courtyard at the far end was full of cars and the keep with their occupants, as Fatima entertained her dubious guests. Cameras came out as the team caught candid shots of every face, and sent them off for processing.

"Ideas for getting past?" asked Casey.

"I'm astonished at you, Colonel," said Roan. "You've taken my course twice and you still don't know the first rule of infiltration?" He swung a small pack off his back, unzipping it to reveal some formal clothing. "Always look as if you belong."

"What about Carina?"

"I don't think there's anything in that black bag for me," asked Carina. "Is there, Mr. Wizard?"

"Possibly, my dear, but you most definitely would not look as if you belonged." Roan scanned the grounds, watching the women. "There," he pointed at a small tent. "We can change in there. If you can pull off a passable belly-dance, you'll fit right in."

* * *

Somewhere inside Tazi's fortress, upstairs…

The bells gave them away, but that wasn't a bad thing. The guards in the hall looked at Carina immediately, but their attention was captured by the colors of her skin and her hair. By the time they realized their mistake, they were unable to realize their mistake.

Leaving Casey and Roan to drag the unconscious bodies into other places, Carina tried the door to the no-longer-guarded chamber. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room, solid wood and fitted with iron rings. Chuck lay on it, his entire being radiating an air of despondency that made her take a few steps toward him.

"I told you," he groaned, turning his head slowly at the sound, "I don't want a–" His eyes widened as he saw her and he threw off his despair like a cloak. "Carina! What are you guys doing here? What are you wearing?" _And how can I get Sarah to wear one?_

"You like?" asked Carina, shifting her hips slightly. The bells were meant for someone hippier than her.

Chuck dragged his gaze upwards. "Uhh, yeah, um, what are you guys doing here? Shouldn't you be foiling that scary woman's nefarious plot?"

"Shouldn't you be in the car, Chuck?" said Casey as he came in the room. "And you," he said to Carina, "Grab a blanket. You're not supposed to be a magnet for _our_ guys." He stomped on by, checking under the bed for enemy agents.

Roan followed and shut the door. "Our apologies for the tardy rescue, Charles, but we had to acquire a car for you to stay in first."

"I'd settle for a camel," said Chuck.

"Never settle, Charles," said Roan, shooting his cuffs. "It lacks dignity. What's the situation with Miss Tazi?"

"You mean the one that you were just yelling at me for being in, after you walked away?"

Roan accepted the rebuke like a gentleman. "Yes, Mr. Bartowski, that situation. We can't deal with her nefarious plot until we know what it is."

"I have no idea."

Casey poked a tapestry aside with the barrel of his gun, in case someone very thin was behind it. "She hasn't said anything to you?"

Chuck shrugged. "She called me a good sport."

"That doesn't sound like something a mercenary leader famous for her all-woman army would say," said Roan.

Carina twitched her hips and Chuck jumped at the jingle-jangle sound. She smiled. " _A_ good sport, or just 'good sport'?"

Chuck pulled at his collar. "I…could have misheard…She said that, once she took care of her guests downstairs, she'd come back and–" he smiled feebly "Take care of me."

"Now that does sound like something a man-hating femizon would say," said Roan.

"'Take care of her guests'?" said Casey. "What does that mean?"

"I wouldn't know, I never saw any of them."

Carina pulled out her phone and checked her mail. "Good old Bed–I mean, Focus." Suddenly Carina looked confused. She looked at the all-powerful bestower of code-names. "Is it Bedrock or Focus?"

"Purely analytical capacity, definitely Focus."

Ah. "She identified one of the guests, a bad, bad Saudi oil billionaire."

Casey made a satisfied grunt. The likelihood of shooting something just went up.

"Why would one of them be here?" asked Roan. "The fortune of a man like that depends on a strong dollar, and I can't think of anything else those two might have in common. What use would they have for a super-note?"

"Maybe to undermine someone else's economy?" suggested Chuck.

"She's coming," said Carina suddenly, looking at an overhead monitor. "You can just ask her yourself."

"Not us, Princess Jasmine," said Casey, dropping to the floor. "Chuck's the only one who's supposed to be here." He slid under the bed, the only space large enough for him.

Carina slid behind an arras against the far wall, and Roan hastened to join her. "Do me proud, Charles."

Chuck didn't think twice about Roan, proud or otherwise. He had to get into character, so he thought about Sarah. Absent, distant Sarah. The last time he'd seen her, she killed a lot of people. The time before that, she killed a lot of people.

He sagged. _This can't go on._

Fatima Tazi chose that moment to strut into the room. "And where do you think _you_ are going?"

Chuck appeared to brighten. "Nowhere?"

"Correct, dumpling," she said."It will please me to hear you beg for an end to your miserable life, and it will please me to give it." She pushed Chuck back onto the bed. "But for right now, I need to be able to keep a smile on my face while dealing with those insufferable pigs downstairs." She climbed onto the bed, straddling him.

Somehow it was less sexy when she did it. "If you hate them so much, why do you bother?"

She smirked down on him. "Money, why else? One trillion dollars in counterfeit US currency will not print itself."

"One trillion–?"

"You must think me an awful fool," said Fatima, pulling her pistol. She put a bullet through the tapestry. Something metallic and bell-like fell shimmering to the floor behind it.

As if that was a signal (the shot, not the bells), a squad of armed soldiers burst in the door. The arras came down, with Roan and Carina empty-handed, and empty-hipped in Carina's case, behind it.

"Roan Montgomery," said Fatima. "Your reputation precedes you. Are you sending boys to do your work, now? Surely he is not an apprentice."

"A decoy, only," said Roan. "Meant to enhance by the contrast."

Fatima put a bullet hole in his pant leg. "Your next word will be your last." She pulled Chuck up off the bed. "Did you think I wouldn't notice the absence of my own guards?"

Since she appeared to be talking to him, Chuck stammered out, "I didn't know you had guards…"

"Be silent, fool," snapped Tazi. A dangerous gleam came into her eye. "Or be useful. Tell me, little man, do you think it any safer beneath my bed than in it?"

Under the bed, Casey's lip curled. "Coming out!" he shouted, pushing his weapon out first.

Once Casey was stripped of his armory, the guards marched the prisoners out of the room. "Not him," said Fatima, pointing at Chuck. "I promised to let him beg for death. Put them in the dungeon, we'll execute them after my little party is over. It wouldn't do for my guests to get cold feet now."

* * *

Upstairs in the bedroom...

Chuck sat on the bed, listening to the sound of revelry from below. Eventually it would end, and they would all die. He felt under the bed, and found spikes, but they were welded into a frame.

He scanned the room, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. Surely if anyone had lethal thingies in their bedroom it would be that woman.

This bedroom, unlike the rest of the fortress, was Fatima's personal space, kept in a style that meant something to her. A poor and ragged style, mostly. The fallen arras reeked of dust, making his eyes water and nose sting. He spotted a little black bag by the door, completely out of keeping with the décor. That smooth sophisticated case didn't belong here.

He unzipped it, and found it to be full of…men's toiletries? It had to be Roan's. Great. If he lit Roan's hairspray on fire maybe he could burn the door down. Cologne, antiperspirant, shaving gel, breath freshener…Breath freshener?

He knew that brand. Mint-flavored unconsciousness. With the guards on the other side of a thick door.

* * *

Down in the dungeon...

Casey looked down at his balls, one chained to each of his ankles. They would have put one on Carina but her dainty feminine feet would have slipped right out of the ring. Or maybe it was just a girl thing. "We're doomed."

"That's your professional assessment, is it, Colonel?" asked Roan, strapped semi-upright to a frame against the wall.

"Just calling it like I see it, Montgomery."

"It's kind of hard to see this ending well," said Carina, rattling the chains on her slender, delicate wrists as she sat behind Casey. Not something the FRODO would work on. "I see skinning alive in our future."

"Target practice," said Casey.

"Or the Death of a Thousand Cuts," said Roan. "Let this be a lesson to you both. The female is always more deadly, more cruelly vicious, than the male."

"Not cheering me up here, Montgomery."

"We could get lucky," Carina sighed. " _Fatima_ could get us first."

"Not gonna happen," said Casey. "Chuck's probably at the head of those stairs right now. Before you know it we'll be back on a plane to the States, trying to figure out how to explain this to the General."

* * *

Upstairs...

Chuck eased open the door at the top of the stairs, checking for movement. Just one shadow. A big shadow. With Roan's portable shaving mirror he looked around the corner. A big shadow for a big woman. All he had were weapons he'd rather not use, and Roan's bag. How could he get past _her_ without a fight?

* * *

Downstairs...

"This _is_ precisely the sort of situation you two were sent to keep him out of."

"Not cheering me up here, Montgomery."

Roan might have shrugged but with his arms pulled up like that they couldn't tell. "He's not in it, is he?"

 _Heh_. "Knowing Chuck, he's probably got three alternate escape routes mapped out."

* * *

Outside...

Something, lots of somethings, fell to the steps and down the steps with a great metallic clatter. Someone whimpered in pathetic terror, "No!"

* * *

Inside...

"What the hell is that?" said Casey.

"From the sound of it," drawled Roan, pulling his bonds with renewed vigor, "I'm guessing this is daring escape plan number four."

* * *

Outside...

The guard brought her gun around, just as a scrawny fellow bumbled down the steps, all bent over. Even as he reached for whatever it was he reached for on the step, his foot slid forward and kicked it down to the floor. A tube of toothpaste?

"Please don't be broken," muttered Chuck with a slight accent as he scooped up the mirror, "Please don't be broken." He scanned the room in the glass and clutched it to his chest. "Oh thank God." He stuffed it into the formerly-empty bag.

"Stop!" commanded the guard.

"Ah!" shouted Chuck, stumbling backward.

"What do you do here?"

"Mr. Roan's things!" Chuck snatched up the abused toothpaste tube and stuffed it in the bag. "I must take care of Mr. Roan's things!" He sank to his knees on the steps. "Oh, you don't know what it is, to be a lackey."

The guard glanced around the room, empty and cold.

Chuck pulled his coat tighter. "Gosh, it's cold." He looked at the guard with open admiration. "You don't feel it, do you? I wish I could be like you, strong and all that." He reached for the shaving cream.

"Stop," said the guard again.

"Please," Chuck fairly whined, gesturing at the scattered items, "They're Mr. Roan's things. I have to keep them in order." He tucked his hands under his arms, making himself appear smaller, as if to say, _This is my life._ "We can't all be tall, strong, and beautiful, can we?""

"I am not beauty!" Even her voice was not beauty.

"I love my mother very much," said Chuck peevishly, "And I think you are just as pretty as she ever was." He ducked his head. "Maybe a bit more, really…"

"You think I am pretty, English pansy?"

"That's 'dandy', and why wouldn't I? Any orchid can bloom in a hothouse." He waved a hand indifferently, and then clenched it into a fist, "But it takes a stronger flower to stand up to winter's chill, if you ask me."

"Who are you, Englishman?"

Chuck stood, smoothing his rumpled clothing. He stepped forward, held out a hand partway and said, "Charles Charles, at your service."

Her lip curled.

"I know," said Chuck, dropping the hand. "I blame my father's peculiar sense of humor. He married a woman named Charlotte. We all called her Chuck, out of pity, I think." Then he jumped. "But _I_ didn't call her Chuck, I called her mum."

She snorted her derision. "Come here, Englishman."

Chuck approached, cringing to disguise his height, arms drawn in to conceal their length. "Yes, ma'am."

"You think I am beauty, eh?"

"I do," said Chuck, with a firm nod. "Not as beautiful as you could be, of course, but–"

"What do you mean?" said the guard. "How can I be more pretty? Tell me, now!"

"My mother always wore her hair up, you know," said Chuck, as if she would. "It was the fashion of the day, but it also served to emphasize her magnificent jaw, quite the marvel. I'm sure it would have the same effect on you. Truly stunning."

"My hair up?" She grabbed her short, dark locks and pulled. "Like this?"

"No, no, no," said Chuck in horror, his hands fluttering. He reached up around her neck, suddenly much taller. "Like this."

His thumbs jammed in on either side of her neck, and he knelt with her smoothly, keeping up the pressure as she sagged to the ground. He took her weapons but he wasn't about to try moving her. He stepped over her and tapped on the door. "Guys?"

* * *

Inside...

Casey could live without Roan's happy grin. "Get us out of here, Bartowski!"

"Let me search this Russian bear for the keys."

Roan raised his voice. "Don't bother, Charles, you little A-plus dumpling. You have my bag?"

"Of course."

"Get the shaving cream and spray it on the lock."

"Okay," said Chuck, confused but willing. They heard a sound, presumably that of shaving cream sprayed on a lock, not something any of them could claim to have heard before.

"Now spritz it with my cologne."

"Holy cow," said Chuck. "You shave with this stuff?" He pushed the cell door open, most of the lock eaten away, and part of the wall.

"Clearly not. The toothpaste is thermite. Spread some on the cuffs, and use the nose-hair burner in my pocket to ignite it."

Chuck shook his head in wonder as he rummaged around for the materials. "You really come prepared, Roan."

"It's not the tools, it's the man, Charles. How did you escape the bedroom, if I may ask?"

"Fatima had one of those old-fashioned atomizers," said Chuck casually as he spread goo carefully on the locks. "I dumped your knockout-drop breath spray into it and pumped it under the door." Chuck held up a plastic wand. "What's this?"

Roan gave him a funny look. "That's a toothbrush, Charles."

* * *

Chuck made his way to the car, reversing the route his team had used to get in. The rescue could be written off, and would be, as a rather extreme form of a field exercise, but none of what was coming up had anything to do with infiltration or inducement. Besides, he had critical information for Beckman, and the car had the strongest transmitter.

"Excellent work, Agent Charles," said Beckman when he made his report. "The location of her printing facility is of utmost importance. Report any leads immediately. I'll have a drone standing by."

Chuck passed on the order and listened in on the little tactical radios that were all the gear they had left, plus the guard's weapons. Roan, like Chuck, thought there was more to Fatima's quarters than met the eye, and returned there, while Casey and Carina decided to crash the party.

A long steady stream of gunfire shattered the night. Chuck heard it even with his windows rolled up. He triggered his mike. "Casey, what did you just do?"

"Zip it, Charles. I'm not the only trigger-happy goon in this hellhole. Fatima just blew all of her idiot buyers away."

"Why would she do that?"

"That's your department, Graboid. I just kill people."

 _To each his own_. "Whatever she's after, power and wealth have nothing to do with it," said Chuck. "Roan, I smell something personal about all this. Find out what that is for me, please."

"My pleasure, Agent Charles."

* * *

" _Good evening, Miss Tazi. A pleasure to see you again. Some wine?"_

Chuck listened to a master at work. The transmitter to Roan's radio didn't catch much of what Fatima said, but Roan, appearing sympathetic, or perhaps hard-of-hearing, repeated the important bits in a kindly tone. A tiny strip-mined village? How sad. Hopefully they had that detail on file somewhere. As he was typing out this information for Beckman, he heard two simultaneous exclamations, "Drop your weapons!" along with "You bastard!" His team had been caught again.

He reached for the door latch…and stopped. This was his team. He should be feeling sorry for the bad guys.

Plus Casey and Carina had explicit orders to keep him out trouble. He couldn't put them in it.

In back of it all, Sarah. He had to get Dreyfus' blessing to get back in the field, back to her.

Not that that meant he couldn't help, he just had to be smarter about it than he used to be. What could he do? He didn't even have the resources of his Intersect room available, just this stupid–

CIA-issued?

He checked the glove compartment.

"Okay, guys, two things," he said, pressing a button. "Casey, I'm staying in the car. And Roan, duck." He pressed the red button, and the missile flew across the intervening distance in seconds, exploding against the outer wall of the tower.

He followed, the rocket moving much faster than he could, listening as his friends made their own freedom with the help of his little distraction. Without a planned rendezvous point he aimed for the place he'd come out, and hoped for the best.

Casey came out, supporting Roan, with Carina covering them. The two men piled in the back and Carina took shotgun seat. She kept the shotgun out of sight, though.

"What happened to Tazi?" asked Chuck, not waiting for a reply to pull out and put some distance behind them. Hopefully they weren't just going to let her get away.

Roan and Casey shared a look, and Casey shook his head slightly.

Roan said, "We're intelligence agents, Charles, not law enforcement. Leave Miss Tazi to the Marrakeshi police. After tonight's debacle even they might do something."

That got the expected Casey grunt.

The car's phone rang, and Carina answered it. She nodded and said "Yes, ma'am" a lot, then hung up. "Well, Chuckles, looks like this is goodbye again. You and Casey are going back to Prague."

Casey couldn't believe that. "She's leaving you two alone together in Marrakesh?"

"My General has nothing to fear," said Roan. "It's not the place, it's the woman, and despite Agent Miller's many and obvious charms, especially in that costume, she is not the woman. Isn't that right, Charles?"

"Absolutely," Chuck lied, his hands white on the steering wheel. Sometimes it _was_ the place. Sarah's proper place was with him, and she wasn't in it. _This can't go on._

Chuck flashed. On nothing. On this road and at that speed, no one noticed, but his hands relaxed on the wheel. _This_ won't _go on._


	53. Eureka

**A/N** This is a very busy chapter, not a lot of the character development I like to do, but a lot of plot points that need to be made as the avalanche starts rolling downhill.

* * *

Breakfast at Volkoff's compound, the day after Fatima Tazi's party…

"Good morning, Father."

"And an excellent morning it is." Alexei Volkoff sliced into his breakfast steak with gusto, as Vivian settled in front of her usual fruit cup. "You remember that super-note enterprise I warned you off of?"

She sipped her tea to clear her mouth. "I remember you saying that it couldn't possibly go well."

He smiled at the understatement. "It didn't."

"How many agencies stepped in?" The ramifications of an American economic collapse would have been worldwide.

"Just one," said Volkoff, sounding only a little surprised. "But in this case, one was more than enough."

"Agent Charles?" she guessed. He would always be her first guess. "She had an army."

"An army of idiots. Worse than useless, against a single clever man."

She put her fork down. "How clever?"

"No idea," said her father, patting his lips with his napkin. "Riley had one of his best agents pose as a dancer. In the confusion she absconded with the security footage. When you've finished perhaps you and I can review it together."

She ate a bit faster. That 'perhaps' was only a bit of politeness on her father's part, and if her time here had taught her anything, it was that Alexei Volkoff was never more dangerous than when he was being polite.

* * *

At Volkoff Industries HQ…

Alexei and Vivian stepped out of the elevator to find Frost and her new shadow standing by his office door, with Frost just putting her hand to the scanner.

"Well, you're up nice and early," said the boss with approval.

"Yet you always seem to be ready for me," said Frost, turning his way.

"Not exactly," said Alexei. "Mixing business with pleasure. as Agent Charles did last night down in Marrakesh, before returning to Prague. We came up to do a little footage review. The real work of the day has yet to begin."

"So it won't set your schedule back any if I take my new personal trainer down to the gym for some hand-to-hand?"

"I thought she was injured," said Vivian, blandly.

"Then maybe this time I can keep up," said Frost, sounding equally unconcerned for Sarah's well-being.

"One hour, Frost," said Alexei, putting his hand to the plate. The doors unlocked, and he and Vivian went inside.

Frost and Sarah turned away, and Sarah handed Frost the little spider-bot that they'd used to deactivate the security, just a little over two minutes ago. The raid had gone splendidly, if you can call netting one name–'The Contessa'–splendid, but the escape put them in front of an elevator just about to open.

Frost tucked it in her pocket for disposal. "That was too close," she said. Something had disturbed Alexei's routine. She couldn't have that.

* * *

"Look at his face," said Vivian softly.

"He looks blasé," said Alexei, sounding blasé on the outside, anything but on the inside. Frost should be here with them, she loved to do analysis. Something was off with her, and he couldn't have that.

"Exactly, father." Vivian reached out to tap the screen. "Here he has this great bosomy thing on top of him and from his expression he might as well be lifting weights." She'd always known he would be above such…behavior.

Alexei chuckled. "I wouldn't call Fatima Tazi a 'thing', dear."

Men. "Believe me it's the politest of the things I would call her, even to her face."

Volkoff made a pained noise. "I doubt she has much of a face left. She was at ground zero of a missile attack."

She'd send them a thank-you note. "Who?"

Alexei pointed at Chuck's blasé face. "Her gentleman caller."

"Chuck would never be so crude."

Alexei shrugged. "The others on his team were all recorded elsewhere at the time."

"Then he didn't mean to do it."

That got a laugh. "Oh granted, a missile isn't exactly a precision instrument, but he did target the poor woman's bedroom. When you take action, you take the consequences of that action."

"Send me the footage," she said stubbornly. "I'll prove you wrong."

"Vivian, Vivian," muttered her father, but that didn't stop him sending her a copy of the file.

* * *

Same place, later in the day…

Vivian stopped by the computer department on her way for tea. Certainly they could have had it sent up but Father was always telling her to make the occasional appearance among the troops. Good for morale, and all that. Well, this would be good for _her_ morale. "I need your best graphics man."

Once the required underling was sent to her, she brought up the screenshot she'd carefully selected. The footage of the missile attack itself was disappointing, just the harlot and her latest mark, some old man, and the camera was destroyed before she could see what became of either of them. The recording had other uses, though. She pointed out those bits of Miss Tazi's body that she'd left in frame. "Do you see what this man is doing?"

He saw what he would have been doing if he'd been that man. "Yes, Miss Volkoff."

"Do you see his face?" she asked. When he acknowledged that he did, she stood up. "Put a smile on it."

* * *

Washington DC, the same morning…

General Beckman was hip-deep in back-dated deployment orders for the drone she'd re-purposed last night, when the chime came through her monitor. She touched the little stud without looking up. "This is General Beckman."

"General, I have part of that analysis you asked for," said Manoosh.

 _Analysis of what?_ Right, the…thing. Clearly, it was too early for multi-tasking. "I'm listening."

"The pieces are fragments of a data repository, shaped like a glass eye. A crystalline lattice structure that can store multiple hard drives' worth of data on a molecular level."

"How much data, Mr. Depak?"

"Terabytes, ma'am," said Manoosh, excited. "Complete portability, with no loss of data. A few disks of this stuff could replace the Library of Congress."

 _Or a criminal empire._ The crystal was smashed, yet Volkoff Industries was still a threat. And Sarah had not returned when she could have. Hunting the data? More crystals like this, or some other form of backup? Suddenly she realized that Manoosh was still going on about the new technology. "Thank you, Mr. Depak. Get this data to Agent Charles ASAP."

"Already done, General. We did a remote ULDS deployment to an existing on-site delivery device."

It was also too early for jargon. "I don't believe I'm familiar with that designation."

"I just made it up," said Manoosh. "It means an Ultra-Limited Data Set, very focused, minimal bandwidth. Ellie said to give it a field-test, since a courier would take too long. We have a device with a larger dataset in transit, just in case."

Thank God Ellie knew when not to wait for official sanction. "Very good."

"Uh, General?"

"You have something else?"

"Just that this tech is bleeding-edge, General. There can't be many people in the world capable of making such a thing."

How nice of him to notice. She nodded her approval. "Then that's your next project. Find out who could have constructed this crystal. We need to track down whatever data was on it, and we need to do it now!"

* * *

In Prague, where late-returning agents had been allowed to sleep in...

Casey pounded on the door, knowing better than to walk in on a sleeping agent. "Up and at 'em, Charles. You've got a package."

* * *

Back in DC, a bit later, when multi-tasking was again possible…

Her monitor chimed again, another welcome distraction. Sometimes Mr. Clark was just too efficient. "Beckman."

"General, we did that overflight," said Hannah.

"What were the results?"

"It's a house, ma'am." A series of photos appeared, taken as the satellite approached and then departed the area. Thermals indicated a single occupant. A low stone wall, a manicured lawn, a garden that showed both pride and skill in the making. "It looks…bucolic," said Beckman. "Anything underground?"

"Nothing we could see. Possibly a root cellar, but nothing with power."

"Why would Orion's computer target that house?"

"Did he…it?"

"I'm surprised your thermal imaging didn't reveal a large red 'X' right underneath." Beckman sighed. "But you're right. If we want to justify an incursion into allied space we need to perform all due diligence. Check the other possible sites, but don't expect to find anything. Get me a timeline, I'll put the team on alert."

* * *

Prague…

Casey sat back, putting the pair of downloading glasses to one side. The new program seemed to work as they said it would. Between Orion, Ellie, and Manoosh, what did he expect? "Alright, Bartowski, what have you got for me?" They were in a Quiet Room, where it was safe to use real names.

Chuck wasn't sure he liked this new technique. Sure it was lightweight, but he was used to getting a lot more bang for the flash. The whole point of the Intersect was to find connections and this ULDS had very few of those. Like throwing out a net and getting only one fish. "One name. Roni Eimacher." He started typing it into the computer.

Casey pulled up a pad and started punching in Beckman's number on the secure phone. "How do you spell that?"

* * *

Volkoff HQ…

Sarah, not having the run of the building, sat in her little blank empty office with her injured foot up. It suited her, four gray walls that provided a minimum of stimulation. Symphonic music played over the speakers, while her tablet contained an assortment of books and a variety of games to keep her occupied.

Someone slid an envelope under her door.

* * *

Washington DC…

"Mr. Depak, how are you coming with that analysis?"

"Putting together a list of possibles, General," he said. "Then I'll do a comparison of dates, to see who was doing what when. This project must have taken a big chunk of someone's time…"

"Is the name Roni Eimacher on that list?"

"Yes it is, General, and with high probability, not sure why. He doesn't seem to have been active in this area for years. I found a bunch of references in the current research but nothing current of his own. That seemed to do it for Hannah, though."

"She knows first-hand how frightening Volkoff can be, Manoosh," said Beckman, glad they were working together. Hopefully this Eimacher person was just in a different line of work, and not terminated. _Faith._ Frost wouldn't let Volkoff terminate an innocent. "Find Eimacher. We'll have a little chat with him ourselves."

* * *

Volkoff HQ…

Frost unlocked the door to the office where Sarah was basically being stored until needed. Like a stakeout but not as interesting. "Well, Agent Walker, are you ready for a–"

The room was empty. The music played, the furniture was intact, but the tablet was smashed. Frost sorted through the pieces and was about to sweep them into the trash when she noticed a wad of paper at the bottom of the bin. She pulled it out and swept in the debris, and then unfolded the wad, which took a surprisingly long time to do. The paper was quite large, but it had been compressed, squeezed into a tiny ball by extreme force.

Frost touched her own throat, well aware of the kind of strength Sarah had, the kind of extreme force she could apply. She smoothed the paper on the table, almost unable to see the details of the picture for all the creases.

Then she knew where Sarah had gone, was going, right now.

"Oh, Chuck."

* * *

With a discreet tap on the door, an underling brought herself to the Master's attention. "Miss Frost sent this for you, sir."

Volkoff grunted an imperative, and the woman placed the envelope into his outstretched hand. She knew better than to be around when he ripped into it and pulled out the single sheet of paper. He stared at the image for a second, and reached for his phone. "Frost? What is this?" Then he heard the noise. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the air, Alexei, taking the helicopter to the airport. I have to head her off."

Volkoff wasn't in the habit of asking questions that made him look stupid. The smile that he knew was drawn-on, the feathery feel of paper that had to have recently been ironed to flatten it again, all added up to one thing for a man who was very good at math. "Agent Walker's on her way to Prague."

"In a company car with a company credit card. I need to stop her before she destroys us."

Someday he and the CIA would be at loggerheads but it would come at a time of his own choosing. Today was not that day. "Bon chance." Volkoff hung up, grateful that Frost was on the job. Then he lifted the receiver again, and pressed a single button as he examined the picture more closely. "Vivian, could you come to my office, please?"

* * *

Washington DC, hours later…

Her monitor chimed. She pressed the stud without looking up. "This is General Beckman."

No one answered.

Now she looked up. A single icon sat in the middle of her screen, titled 'Archer's Music'. Why would Orion be contacting her now? Could he have gotten the anti-toxin to Russia already?

She opened the file, a receipt for merchandise she'd never sent or received, a CD titled 'La Contessa', for…five hundred thousand rubles? For that price she could buy a hammer _and_ a toilet seat. And why in rubles?

* * *

A small airport in Prague…

The plane touched down with a bump, braking hard. Frost waited until the plane had come to a stop, then rose and went to the door as the stewardess unsealed the door, and stood back. Frost gave the woman a friendly nod as she passed. Then she stopped.

Black hair?

Sarah hit Frost with the butt of her pistol, dropping the older woman to the floor. She stepped over Frost's unconscious body and out the door.

* * *

Back in Washington…

The number seemed familiar, hauntingly so. She could practically hear it in her memory, 'something-something-five-hundred-thousand-something'. A man's voice, not her aide's. She hadn't spoken to that many other men today.

She pressed the button on her monitor. "Manoosh."

"Yes, General?" said Manoosh, when the connection was made.

"Have you said the number five hundred thousand to me today, Mr. Depak?"

If he found the question strange, he didn't show it. "Yes, General. That's the equivalency of CDs to these crystal disks I told you about."

"Very good. Thank you." She killed the connection, working through Orion's puzzle. Five hundred thousand CDs equal one disk, and that disk was called the Contessa.

Who could that be? If they could find her they'd find Volkoff Industries, lock, stock, and barrel.

She touched the button again. "Hannah."

"Yes, General?"

"I have a priority project for you…"

* * *

At the CIA Training Facility…

Chuck opened the door to his room, but before he could hit the light switch a hand grabbed his wrist and threw him across the room. The door closed, and he rose to an attack position in the dark, the wall at his back.

Someone growled at him.

"Another training exercise, Casey?" Except he'd just left Casey…

A shadow moved, black on black, and Chuck struck out at it. The almost-invisible figure dodged, taking advantage of Chuck's extended position to force him out of his defensive position and into the center of the room. From there it was kick-dodge-parry-thrust time, as Chuck held his own against an opponent he could barely see. He was faster and stronger, but whoever this guy was, he seemed to know Chuck's every move. No one here could fight like this.

This was real. This person could kill him.

Suddenly the dark figure spun and kicked him right in the chest, knocking him down on the bed. A heavy weight settled over his waist and arms, pinning him to the mattress. A hand gripped his neck. "Sarah, wherever you are _I love you_!" he yelled, just to make sure it got said.

Something crashed into his mouth, probably to shut him up, silence him, smother him. Then he realized that it was a pair of lips. He _knew_ those lips, that scent, the texture of that hair…"Sarah?"

Frantic dingers pressed 1-2-1-2 on both sides of his face.

He rolled her over and touched the light, desperate to see. "Oh my god," he said in a tone of wonder. Kiss. That smile. Kiss. Those eyes. Kiss. That hair? He touched a few dark strands. "This isn't right. I feel like I'm cheating on you, with you. Does that sound strange?"

Sarah rolled him back over and got up off the bed. Pointing firmly to keep him right where he was, she went into his bathroom and came back with a towel, wrapped around her hair. It wasn't the usual blonde but it was much better than black. Chuck felt like his heart was beating again. "God I've missed you."

Sarah started removing her clothes. She'd missed him more, and she was always better with actions than with words.

* * *

Back in Moscow…

Volkoff pinched the bridge of his nose. "An overnight bag?"

" _My_ overnight bag," said Frost over the phone, vastly annoyed. Sarah had even taken her car, forcing to use this POS. Plus she had a headache. "No one noticed it, even though I didn't bring anything with me." Rule one of any successful infiltration.

In the background Frost thought she heard Vivian say "Can we kill her now?" but with traffic noise it was hard to be sure.

"You must bring her back, Frost," said Volkoff. "Whether she achieves her objective or not, we'll need her as a bargaining chip."

"I'll stuff her back in the bag myself."

* * *

Sarah sat on the bed, watching her _Wonderful_ husband sleep, holding his _Wonderful_ hand. She squeezed, he squeezed back, even in sleep. Hard, strong. _Wonderful_

She looked at her own hand. Grief. Yes.

His pain, her pain.

Comfort. Yes.

Pain shared is pain halved.

Love. Oh, very yes. Her body still quivered with the love they'd made. She leaned over him, body to body. _Wonderful_

He twitched. "No," he said, and she sat back quickly, but he spoke to a dream. "Don't make me…" He lifted his hand, fingers curled loosely.

She gripped his hand, pressed it to her face, and he calmed, his whole body curling toward her. "Sarah…"

1-2-1-2.

Sarah Bartowski lied to her husband. All was not well. They'd hurt him, damaged him.

 _They._

Not a word, not a sound. Years of her life flashed before her eyes as they curdled into one indigestible clot. A congealed lump of history. They'd hurt her too.

They.

The gun in his hand was _them._ The strength in his hand, in his heart, to do what he hated, was him. She touched his _Wonderful_ chest. _Lub. Dub._ He smiled, a 'Sarah' smile.

Her Chuck. Her precious. Her smile.

Not theirs. The woman in the picture was _them_. The fake smile on his face was _them_. They tried to take him from her.

She grieved for him, but raged at _them_.

Someone pounded on the door, disturbing her _Wonderful_ husband's rest. His head moved, his grip tightened on her hand, and her fragile thoughts shattered and scattered in the rising winds.

"Charles! Up and at 'em! Time to fight the good fight."

 _They._ Not her.

She growled, throaty and voiceless. He was her lover, not a fighter.

She was the fighter.

* * *

Casey knew he was in trouble the second the door opened. Sarah had recently terrorized a country, and she'd only gotten more unstable since then, in Volkoff's company. "Walker," he said sharply, trying to get her attention, but even as he said it he knew he'd made a serious mistake.

Sarah's lips curled in a silent snarl. _Don't call me Walker!_

Casey reeled as her deadly left leg made the point very clearly. Three names and the only one he could use would get him killed.

He fought back as best he could, but she was faster and always had been. He'd always counted on strength and endurance over all that ninja crap. It wasn't like he wanted to hurt her, either, she wasn't in her right mind.

Ow! Or any mind. She was like some homicidal ninja robot, set on high. Like she wouldn't stop until he was dead.

 _Hmm. Not a bad idea._

He backed away, leading her down the hall and coincidentally away from any sleeping trainees who might come out at the wrong moment and add to this chaos. He turned his head slightly to make sure he was going in the right direction and she nearly took it off. She grabbed his arm and slammed him up against the window. He pushed back and shoved her away from him, but that only set him up for her deadly kick.

Casey stumbled back and crashed through the window.

* * *

Washington, twilight-time after a very long day…

Her monitor chimed and General Beckman sighed. Why wasn't Mr. Clarke handling all these calls? "This is General Beckman."

"General, I've got some bad news, from Prague," said a man with a serious-but-friendly voice. "Agent Charles is dead, murdered by a mysterious assassin known only as the Black Widow."

Beckman blinked. "Really?"

"I'm afraid so, ma'am. She pushed him out a window and he fell to his death. I knew you'd want to be informed straightaway."

"You were correct. This is terrible news. Thank you, Mister…?"

* * *

Prague, on the other end of the line…

"Bartowski, General," said Chuck holding up his new credentials and reading the name proudly. "Special Agent Charles I. Bartowski. You're most welcome. Good night."

"'Fell to his death'?" sneered Casey. "We were only on the third floor. I could handle sixty feet, easy."

Chuck put the little wallet in his jacket pocket. "Good thing Sarah didn't know that, otherwise she might have jumped after you to finish the job." He picked up his new gun.

Casey grunted a negative. "If she really wanted me dead she'd have killed me in the hall." He saw Chuck handling his gun and frowned. "I hated that pouch, hated it, Until I saw they'd assigned you a tranq pistol as your official weapon." He shook his head. "Only you. Guess I should be glad, though. If they gave you a gun for real she might get mad for real, and we know who she'd take it out on."

Chuck put the gun away with all proper caution. If he tranqed himself just holstering his weapon Casey would never let him live it down. "How do I look?"

Casey grunted reluctant approval. "You know none of us wanted this for you, right?"

"Tell that to the Belgian," said Chuck. He didn't want this for himself either, but what could he do. He'd never been a shirker before, and he wasn't about to start now. "Or my mother. My father and my sister, too, for that matter. Face it, Casey, it's destiny."

"It's not destiny, Bartowski. Destiny implies that someone cares. This is just fate, and fate screws everybody." Casey snatched up his own jacket. "Now come on, I've got a mission to England and I'm already a man down." Casey went for the door but stopped just before he opened it, and turned to Chuck. He held out his hand. "Agent Charles is dead."

Chuck smiled and took it like a man.

Casey nodded. "Long live Agent Bartowski."


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N** I love Mrs. Winterbottom.

* * *

CIA training facility in Prague, pre-coverup…

The sound of breaking glass brought Sarah to her senses. _Casey!_ Too late his name echoed in the vast empty spaces of her mind. She ran up to the hole in the frame and looked out, saw him down below on the grass, unmoving.

Running bare feet made little sound on the floor, but she caught it just in time to pull away from the jagged hole as someone else–as Chuck slammed into the frame and looked for himself. "Casey?"

She backed away from his question.

He looked up at her. "Sarah, what did you do?"

She ran away from his question. From him. From everything.

Chuck thought about running after her, but when doors started to open in the corridor he realized he had footage to doctor first. And Casey.

"What's going on, Agent Charles?" While technically a trainee, according to the carefully mis-doctored paperwork, none of the other trainees thought of him as one of themselves.

 _What_ was _going on?_ When in doubt (and it's your wife), lie. "The Black Widow," said Chuck, pulling the name out of long-ago air, "She came for me but she got Casey instead. You, organize a search, I've got to see about my handler." He ran off, in the opposite direction from the one Sarah'd taken, secure in the knowledge that by the time a search could be put together she'd be long gone.

He went from landing to landing in a single bound. It was good to be tall, sometimes.

"Casey!" he yelled as he ran across the concrete, to the little patch of grass the big man had miraculously managed to hit. He dropped to his knees, trying to recall proper medical procedures for injuries from a fall. Ellie made sure all that stuff was in the Intersect, hopefully some of it was still in his head.

"Is she gone yet?" asked Casey, unmoving.

"Huh?"

"Is she _gone_ yet?" Casey could be remarkably snide without moving his lips.

"Yeah," said Chuck. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good." Casey sat up, brushing schmutz off his arms. He gave Chuck a wary look. "We need to call this in. I'm sorry, Chuck." Chuck watched his handler, intently. "What?"

The emotions of the night leeched away from Chuck's face, leaving only nerdish resolve, which doesn't look like anything. "Don't be, Colonel," he said, helping Casey up from the ground. "I can use this." He could and would use anything, would do whatever he had to do.

* * *

Meanwhile…

Sarah ran back to the car she'd stolen from Frost, desperate to escape, a notion of where to escape _to_ not even a wisp of a thought compared to what she was escaping _from_. That look of pain in Chuck's eyes, that confusion. The confusion in her, when she found no answer for his question and all of its echoes, shards and splinters of the original as it broke through her vast emptiness. So many.

What did she do? What _did_ she do? What had she done? Echoes of a past she worked very hard to never think about told her, like sonar, that she damn well knew what she had done. What she had become.

What _had_ she become? Not something that wanted to know itself, certainly. The walls that Chuck never seemed to tire of knocking down had been as much to keep this in as to keep all others out.

Her darkness had seemed so infinite, there in the dark. Once in the light it didn't. But if darkness was the absence of light, was evil the absence of good? No one had ever taught her to be good. _They_ taught her nothing but how to be useful to _them_. Only Chuck…She needed–

 _Chuck would hate that._ Those four words stopped her, pinned her with truth. He would hate anything that limited her, even if it happened to be some version of himself. His chief joy was in breaking her bonds, setting her free to become whatever she would become. Whatever that would be.

She looked down at herself. Not this.

She'd only wanted to protect her father, and they used that against her. Told her to think bigger. Protect others, serve the greater good. They promised they would help her do that, and they lied. They hadn't made her any bigger than she'd already been. They just gave her better tools, their tools, while leaving her the same small thing she'd been before. Once, twice maybe, she'd gotten to be the girl she wanted to be, and then she met Chuck.

That was a self she wanted to be. Chuck's protector, and now his wife, and maybe…She spread a hand over her belly. She wanted him to be happy, and he would be happy when she was…herself. Whoever that was.

She started running again. She'd find that girl somewhere up ahead.

* * *

Still in Prague, still running, but now running _to_ instead of simply running _from_ …

She hit the car door but before she could open it she turned around. She was surrounded by men with guns. More of _them._

Before she could do anything stupid someone shot a taser into her back through the open car window. Every muscle in Sarah's body stiffened, as Frost reached out through the window to catch her belt. A female operative came forward to catch Agent Walker from the front and lower her to the street. Two men stepped forward with cuffs ready as Frost killed the current.

"Toss her in the back," said Frost. She pointed at the keys on the ground. "I'll take those." The woman handed them to her as her boss (but not Frost's) came up. "Riley, watch the facility for the next hour. Inform me of any activity."

He frowned down at her. "You don't need to teach me my business, Frost."

"No, I don't. Your team is very effective."

Riley didn't respond to the compliment. "Of course they are." He watched her drive away, before dispersing his team with quick and angry gestures. "Jasmine, get ready to do your thing." She nodded, and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

* * *

The coverup (or rather, the Chuck version of a coverup, which consists not so much of covering something up as uncovering something that was already covered up)…

Chuck and Casey closeted themselves in Casey's room. Chuck went to the phone while Casey went to his luggage. "Bartowski, wait," said Casey. He had to stop the moron before he did something moronic. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I'm done hiding, Casey," said Chuck, as he tried to come up with properly coded phrases for this call.

"I figured as much." Casey turned around. "Got something for you."

Chuck waited, noting the pouch that Casey held in his hands, but watching the man who held it.

"The General gave me this a long time ago, just in case you got cocky," said Casey, opening the bag and reaching inside. He pulled out a pistol.

Chuck looked at the weapon, then shifted his gaze to his handler's face. "Casey?"

Casey reversed the gun and handed it to Chuck, grip first. "Congratulations, Special Agent Bartowski." Chuck stepped forward to take the–his gun, and Casey threw the pouch and the rest of its contents to him. "You're gonna need some proper credentials to go with that attitude. Just make sure I don't regret this."

* * *

Still Prague, but post-coverup…

Jasmine strolled out of the outer reaches of the facility as casually as she'd sauntered in, buttoning herself up. "She killed Agent Charles. Tore up his room, fought him into the hall, and pushed him out a window. They're calling her the Black Widow."

"Dammit," said Riley. The worst-case scenario, already spinning out of his control. He pulled out his phone.

"Movement, south side," said one of his men over the radio. "A car with no lights and…there they go."

"Pursue," ordered Riley, getting into the back seat as Jasmine took the wheel. He'd inform the boss. If Volkoff decided to inform Frost, that was his business.

* * *

Meanwhile, at a local airport…

"Grab her feet," said Frost, as she took Sarah's shoulders, and together they womanhandled Sarah into the plane. "Right down here."

They left Sarah lying on the floor. The stewardess brought a drink as Frost got a proper weapon and sat down.

Sarah turned her head and stared at her from ankle-level.

Frost stared back. "You've caused enough trouble."

* * *

In a different piece of air…

They checked in over a more secure network once they reached cruising altitude.

"Complete silence?" asked Beckman.

"Yes, General," said Chuck, excuse me, Special Agent Bartowski. "We had an encounter in my quarters–"

Beckman pulled back from her monitor. "Agent Bartowski, no one needs or wants to–"

"She attacked me, General. We fought. In the dark. I thought it might be another exercise but she was too good to be any of the trainers. I thought she might be an assassin until she kissed me."

"Moving on," said the General. "Colonel, I take it your encounter with Sarah was similar." Sans kissing.

"Not very, ma'am, no. If she'd fought Bartowski like she fought me, he'd have known it was her straight away. She was out for blood."

" _Your_ blood?"

"What did you do, Casey?"

"I didn't do anything, Bartowski. Just pounded on your door like usual."

"Not exactly a killing offense," said Beckman. "Do we know where she went?"

"No, General," said Chuck. "But that shouldn't be a problem. I got something into her while she was in my room–"

"Bartowski!"

"Just a needle tracker, Casey, I didn't have anything else." Chuck winked as Ellie rolled her eyes.

"Amusing, Mr. Bartowski," said Beckman, sounding vastly amused. Ellie cleared her throat. "Doctor? Anything to add?"

"The Atroxeum team has been doing some longitudinal studies–"

"In less than a week?" asked Chuck. "How?"

"By using test subjects with a metabolism six times faster than a human's, little brother. Don't interrupt." She composed herself in a professional manner. "The toxin incapacitates quickly but kills slowly. The antitoxin, absorbed through the skin over time, had unpredictable effects, though, ranging from vicious savagery to catatonia." She gave Chuck a look. "The effect in humans would probably be similar, but mixed. The mind is more flexible, but allows for multiple dimensions of fear." She made a sad little smile. "All things considered, though, I'm happy with the way things have turned out."

"Explain."

"The toxin acts more subtly, in someone trained to resist fear. Without the antitoxin Sarah probably would have gotten herself killed by now. She's in distress but she's alive to be that way, and show symptoms. I can't treat a dead person."

* * *

"Blast." Alexei Volkoff laid the phone down gently, spun his chair around slowly, and looked out the window with an attitude of gentle contemplation. Contemplating how quickly his empire could be stripped from him, if the Americans struck before he was ready.

"What is it, Father?"

"Agent Charles is dead, and Agent Walker killed him." Volkoff missed Vivian's look of horror, and hatred. "They're calling her the Black Widow, the same name they used when she retrieved Yuri for me. This does not bode well."

"What shall we do?" Handing Sarah Walker over gift-wrapped, or merely letting her go, preferably off a thirty-story building, topped her list.

"Never you fear. I've prepared for this eventuality, Frost insisted, although she left the details up to me. In case she was captured, she didn't want to be able to give up my location." He took one last look out the window at the city, his city. The Americans would rue this day. "Time to withdraw. Pack your things, Vivian. We'll leave shortly to visit the Contessa."

* * *

Casey put his magazine down as the passengers from America started to come into the debarkation lounge. Their own flight had gotten in a while ago, but of course not so long that there was a reason or time to get a hotel room to wait in. He could tough it out if he had to but after the night he'd had, he wouldn't have minded a softer place to wait. Not to mention the constant tap-tap-tapping of Chuck's keyboard was driving him nuts.

Finally he spotted red hair, and stood up, whacking Chuck's shoulder to get his attention. Casey nodded as Carina walked up to them. "You heard?"

"Yeah." She turned to look at Chuck, and offered her hand. "Bartowski, huh?"

Chuck took it. "Miller, huh?"

"Nope," she said with a smile. "But it's safest."

* * *

"He called her 'Miller'," said Riley into his phone, glad that someone on his team could read lips. Airport crowds were good cover, but they made any kind of listening devices useless. Cameras were much easier. His team was spread all over. "They're moving fast, so expedite."

* * *

No one spoke as they left the building, too many potential ears swirling around. While they could have gotten some gear from the local CIA substation, that would have alerted British authorities to something they wanted kept close in hand. So they found themselves at the local car rental agency instead, renting a car like normal people. Without the missiles.

"Anything come in lately?" asked Carina, as soon as they hit the road.

"They found Eimacher," said Chuck from the back seat. "He had an online gaming group that was pretty popular."

"There's a guy with no sense of self-preservation," muttered Casey.

"Casey, this guy wasn't just cutting-edge, he was the spear-point in his field, and he gave that up, so I have to say I disagree with you."

Carina shrugged, keeping an eye on traffic. "If Volkoff didn't kill him right away he probably wasn't going to. Did he have anything useful to say?"

* * *

Forty minutes before, somewhere in Washington…

Hannah clutched at her hair. "The Contessa's a boat?"

"Well, 'ship', technically."

"Do you have any idea how much European lesser nobility I just plowed through? Technically?"

Manoosh winced. "I'm guessing too much."

* * *

In the air to Moscow…

"Whatever you did, I hope it was worth it to you," said Frost. "Alexei's going to want you in a hole, and Vivian will want to throw you in it herself. I have other uses for your abilities but this will force my hand."

Sarah just looked at her. Her Chuck's mother, another one of _them._

Suddenly Frost smiled, looking younger. "But you couldn't stay away, could you? You saw his face, you knew where he was. I doubt I could have done any differently, if I'd been in your place." Not that she ever had been. Stephen was a scientist, not a field agent.

Sarah, watching her face, saw the mask slip, the smile drop. Not one of them, after all.

Frost checked her watch, and looked out the window. "Excuse me," she said, walking forward.

Sarah watched her go, already knowing what Frost was about. She'd felt it with her entire body. The plane had changed course.

* * *

"Okay," said Casey, as Chuck was under their car disabling it. Hard to claim to be stranded when your car was in plain sight. "What's the deal? English guy, American fiancée?"

"Jolly good," said the car.

Casey hefted his bag. "I guess that makes me the hitchhiker." He smiled and raised his thumb.

"Like anyone would ever pick _you_ up," scoffed Carina, shuddering.

"Don't be silly, dear," said Chuck in his best Monty Python as he clambered to his feet. "We did."

Casey did his best Lurch. "Your gonna have to do better than that."

"I will, Casey," said Chuck, in his normal voice. "I just need to hear a sample of the local accent first. Wouldn't do to sound like too much of a tourist."

* * *

He didn't sound like a tourist. As they sat with Mrs. Winterbottom drinking tea, Chuck decided he sounded like a slightly less apologetic Gregory Tuttle. "I'm pretty sure my father came through here a long time back, before my time, really," he said at last. "Early eighties, thereabouts. Place doesn't seem to have changed much from the way he described it."

"What was his name?" asked Mrs. Winterbottom.

"Hunter," said Chuck. "Stephen Hunter."

"Was he a tall bloke?" she asked. "Long shaggy hair?"

"You remember him?"

"I remember he left something here," said Mrs. Winterbottom. "Always thought he'd pop 'round back for it sooner or later."

"Yes, well, that's my dad," said Chuck. "A second-star-to-the-right-and-straight-on-til-morning' sort of fellow."

"You can have it if you want it," said the old woman. "But you'll have to carry it, it's rather heavy."

Chuck put his teacup down. "My pleasure."

And that's how he came to be standing in a hall, looking down a shotgun.

* * *

"Gimmicked," said the thug under the car. "It'd take them two minutes to fix this."

"Kill it and follow," said Riley. He'd been up all night and his feet hurt in these shoes. They really weren't made for walking over this ground.

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" Mrs. Winterbottom demanded, rage and grief coloring her voice. "Sounding like Hartley and asking about Stephen." She gestured with the shotgun, never actually taking it off beam. "Tell me before I ruin my wallpaper!"

Chuck put his hands in the air. "Ma'am, I'm not actually looking for Stephen, I have a pretty good notion of where he is, actually, and I don't think I've ever met, uh, Hartley. I'm with the CIA."

"So you're saying you work for the people who took my son? Disavowed him, abandoned him?" No grief now, just rage. "No one lifted a finger!"

Chuck lifted a finger. "My dad did. He spent his whole life trying to help your son, trying to help Hartley."

Her anger gave way to surprise. "You're Stephen Bartowski's boy?"

Chuck nodded, and offered a bit more. "And his wife, Mary. They were also called Orion and Frost, you know how the CIA is…"

Apparently she did. Surprise gave way to terrible, terrible hope, and the shotgun pointed elsewhere. "Are you going to fix my son?"

Which was when the gunfire started.

* * *

Frost came back and sat down. "We're diverting to St. Petersburg," she said to Sarah. "What's in St. Petersburg?" she said to herself.

* * *

Chuck and Carina were in the cellar, looking for Hartley's spy will while Casey held off the enemy assault team, when the machine gun started firing. They hadn't brought one with them.

"You don't suppose Casey was adopted, do you?" asked Chuck.

"No, but I'm pretty sure he'd like to be."

* * *

" _The Contessa_?" said Vivian. "I thought you meant a person."

Volkoff eyed the converted freighter with a smile. "I bought her years ago, from Craigslist Dubai. Do you like her?"

"She's…lovely," said Vivian.

"Come aboard, we'll get some ice cream, and I'll give you a tour until Frost arrives."

* * *

Crouched behind the stone wall at the back of the house, Mrs. Winterbottom gave the twine in her hands a good hard pull. A bird chirped.

"Was something supposed to happen?" asked Carina.

"Only if they were damn fools," said the nice old lunatic. A non-fool would have grabbed the twine first thing. "But now I know where they are." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a detonator.

"Mom," said Casey.

"Such a nice boy," she cooed back, and pressed the button.

* * *

The car wouldn't start without some real work so they made a call to the General while they waited for a towtruck. Hartley's mum waited outside the car after her debriefing, completely on board with the concept of 'need to know'. She'd gotten along famously with 'Diane', who offered to rebuild her house, through MI6 auspices of course, as a small repayment for her years of patient suffering, and service. No one needed to give General Beckman lessons in loyalty.

The box that held the box that held Hartley's spy will also held the key, and Chuck on one end of the call and Ellie on the other lost no time opening it to see what it was that their father had worked so hard to get them to see. But seeing was not necessarily believing, or even understanding.

"So Alexei Volkoff is really a British scientist named Hartley Winterbottom?" asked Beckman incredulously. "How could that happen, thirty years ago? We can't even do that now."

"No we can't, General," said Ellie. "And neither could they, but they didn't have to. I know exactly what happened."


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N** Big chapter here, with the technical explanation of how Hartley transformed himself into Volkoff. Team B invades the Contessa, and Frost is ready this time for the ultimate mission of her life.

* * *

General Beckman greeted the news with her customary enthusiasm. "I trust you will share _this_ theory with us, Doctor."

"The key word here," said Ellie, sounding not a bit chastened, "Is 'polyzygotic.' Remember it, little brother."'

"I'm remembering it, sis," said Chuck. "What am I remembering?"

"It refers to a pregnancy resulting from two or more fertilized eggs."

Now Chuck had the same confused look as his partners. "I doubt Volkoff is pregnant, sis."

"No, but Hartley is," said Ellie, "In a manner of speaking. The Agent X files you unlocked are records of very early trials with a very primitive version of the Intersect. I'm pretty certain it's the original version."

"Wait a minute, Doctor, I thought Chuck got the original version," said Casey.

"Chuck got the original version of what might be a gen-2 or even gen-3 program, Casey. Hartley got the gen-0 prototype, barely capable of implanting a single memory."

"Ah, polyzygotic," said Chuck in a voice of great enlightenment.

Someone who wasn't Carina growled at him, "That better mean you understand what she's talking about, Bartowski."

Chuck raised a hand, and Casey stopped distracting him. "And how many of these singleton memories did he get, El?"

"Too many, Chuck, and the trend over time does not look good. The early trials are okay, but the later ones just cannot be from the sources listed on the forms."

Chuck picked up one of the disks in the box. "We may have something for you there, sis."

"So, wait," said Carina, trying to make sense of what she was hearing, "You're saying that Hartley went looking for memories, to turn himself into Volkoff?"

"He went looking for memories to make himself into something," said Ellie. "But he went too far."

"Typical mad scientist," snorted Casey.

"You gonna say that to his mother?" asked Carina.

Casey looked out the window at Mrs. Winterbottom, smiled, and gave her a thumbs-up.

Now it was Carina's turn to snort derisively. "Mama's boy."

"So Volkoff is like Carmichael?" asked Chuck.

"Not a bit, Chuck," said Ellie decisively. "Carmichael _lost_. You didn't want to live out that fantasy."

Chuck wasn't so sure. _"_ _I need you!"_

 _Carmichael shook his head. "You've never needed me. You just need this!" He spread-eagled his body in the air._

"Did Mom and Dad know about this?" asked Chuck, shaking the memory out of his head.

"They must have suspected something," said Ellie. "Probably they expected the memories to fade, but the code was too crude, too powerful. It was about this time Mom started disappearing for no reason, and Dad started working on the code for that panel."

"To remove these, uh, singletons?" asked Beckman.

"I think so, General, but putting them in is a lot easier than pulling them out. It wasn't long before he started working on a more global version of the code, which is what Chuck eventually uploaded. The singletons would be embedded in that, and then he could remove the whole thing at once. Or at least that was the theory."

Chuck got a faraway look in his eyes.

"What happened that time?" asked Casey, taking advantage. Something awful and nightmarish, he was sure, because this was the Intersect.

"Ted Roarke happened. Dad had to run away, and try to develop the code while on the run. This slowed everything down considerably." Not to mention the consequences to her personally, and Chuck, but they wouldn't have known it from her voice. "Didn't you ever wonder why Dad could build the removal program so quickly, once he had access to Roarke's labs?"

From the look on Casey's face the answer was 'No'.

Chuck chose that moment to rejoin the group. "So you're saying the panel in our basement was meant for Volkoff?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice that part, Chuck," said Ellie. "I'm sure it was meant for him, but you were in the way with Sarah behind you. Mom couldn't have known it would hurt you."

 _Hurt me?_ "She could have ended Volkoff right there, sis, and I stopped her. How else could I feel?"

"I'm sorry, Chuck, I wasn't thinking," said Ellie. "I meant the Intersect, and the skills. The 2.0 plugged the skills in where the singletons were supposed to go. Dad's panel…cut them loose."

"Well, that explains a lot," said Casey into the silence.

Chuck lifted his hands. Loose inside him. The shots that killed Gaez. Were they reflexive? "She said Dad never wanted me to see it."

"I wouldn't have either. Hitting you with this was like hitting an eggshell with a hammer."

Chuck dropped his hands into his lap. Carina put her hand in one, and squeezed. Chuck looked at her, and she gave him a smile.

"Mr. Bartowski," said General Beckman, after a moment, "I am sorry."

"That's _Agent_ Bartowski, General," said Chuck, knowing she would take it as he meant it. "Maybe Volkoff isn't like Carmichael, but I could be like Volkoff." 'Now I know he was wrong,' his mother had said. Wrong about what? Sure it could have been a simple random comment, designed to confuse him, or he could have been…what, some kind of test case? Or maybe she knew what it would do and wanted it to happen. He'd likely never know his mother's mind, but he knew what he had to do about it. Hartley lost himself to the memories. _I have to own these skills, before they own me._ "Maybe I need to be."

"For what conceivable purpose?"

"I'm going to get my wife back, General, and complete my mother's mission."

Casey put his hand on top of Carina's, on top of Chuck's. "We can't let Mom…I mean, Mrs. Winterbottom suffer any more."

"We won't, Casey. We're going to end this."

* * *

St. Petersburg…

The cold air reeked. Rotting vegetation, rusting metal, and oil.

Frost put her hand on Sarah's leg. "Here at last," she said, while tapping 1-3-1-3. Suddenly she looked concerned. "How are your _hydra_ tion levels?" She smacked the seat in front of her imperatively. "Water."

The bodyguard passed a bottle back and Sarah drank gratefully. The air in the plane was a bit dry.

They waited until the guards had moved into position, then Frost opened her door, keeping a grip on the chain linking Sarah's wrists together as she got out and Sarah, necessarily, followed. The gangway bounced under a heavy tread as they approached.

"Frost," said Alexei, enfolding her in a hug. "Welcome to the Contessa, my floating fortress of fun." He looked at Sarah's hands. "Taking no chances, I see."

"Would you?"

Volkoff touched Sarah's cheek. "Out of this dangerous nettle we shall yet pluck the flower of safety." He turned and walk away, and they followed. "Captain, you may get under way when you are ready."

"So quickly," mused Frost, so softly that only Sarah could make out the words. "I wouldn't have expected us to make our move until tonight."

* * *

On the way to St. Petersburg…

"You think she'll get there okay?" asked Casey, tippity-tapping with his pencil as he considered alternative scenarios.

"She's on a government plane, she'll be met by a government driver, who'll take her to a government office where she'll deliver top-secret government property," said Carina. The semi-pro havoc-maker shook her head. Mrs. Winterbottom had been offered, and joyfully accepted, the task of delivering her son's spy will to 'that lovely woman in the states.'

"Honestly," added Chuck, plugging another flash drive into his computer, "I'm more worried about the pilots, drivers, and secretaries."

"Smart," said Carina, nodding as she read her trashy romance novel. "Speaking of dangerous women, Chuck, any explosions lately, in the St. Petersburg area?"

Casey said nothing, but Chuck filled the gap for him. "What makes you think she's even there, Carina? We couldn't get a signal from my tracker."

Suddenly Casey leaned over and started rapping on Chuck's head with his knuckles. "Hello! Think, Bartowski, think!" Satisfied that he'd gotten his trainee's attention, he sat back in his seat. "Those guys didn't find us at the cottage by a lucky guess. They followed us from Prague, and if they were watching us there–"

"They could have been watching for Sarah too."

"Bingo," said Casey, "But I'd think it was the other way around. Even if Volkoff was ready for war he'd want to have his nearest and dearest with him, and Sarah on hand to bargain with, but I doubt he's ready for war."

Carina stopped pretending she was interested in the trash on the page. Her diary was more interesting. "Either way he's got Sarah and Frost on board with him, hence–"

"'Hence'?" said Casey.

Carina stuck out her tongue at his sneer-by-implication, then looked at Chuck. " _Hence_ my question, which you still haven't answered."

Chuck checked the overheads quickly. "Uh, no, no explosions yet," he said. "She must be waiting for us."

* * *

On the Contessa…

"What are we waiting for, Father?" asked Vivian as she came onto the bridge. "I thought we'd be out to sea by now." From the look of things they'd managed to get a few hundred yards from shore, but no further.

"There have been…developments since you went to take your rest, my dear." He indicated the professionals as they worked over something. "Our departure has been delayed due to mechanical difficulties." Volkoff licked his ice cream cone. "Armand suspects sabotage."

"Armand always suspects sabotage."

"That doesn't make him wrong."

"No, just dull and predictable," said Vivian. "Has anyone checked on Agent Walker?"

He knew she'd ask that. "In Frost's personal charge. Armand is interrogating Hydra's security recordings for clues." He went to check the logs, and verify that that was _all_ his security man was checking.

"Does she know how to pick a lock?"

* * *

Off the Contessa…

Chuck poked his head above water, amazed at their good fortune. Getting aboard while the Contessa was underway would have been much more difficult.

"Sightsee later, Bartowski," said Casey. "If this scow starts moving we're fish food."

"Relax." Chuck pulled a mike from inside his cowl. "Bedrock, this is Graboid."

"Graboid, you are go for insertion. Two guards, fore and aft. They rest are under cover."

Chuck held up two fingers for his team, and their relative positions. "Roger, Bedrock." He fired a pneumatic pistol, shooting a grappling hook up to the rail.

They scaled the side of the ship up to the railing, vaulting over it and into the shadows as the irregularities in the guards' patrolling allowed. "Idiots," said Casey, as they rearmed from their waterproof bags.

Carina smiled as she coiled the grapple cable. "They're thugs on a boat, not Marines."

"If I had my way they'd be thugs _off_ a boat." The short way. Unfortunately, the best way to make them think they hadn't been penetrated was to let the outer picket continue as they were.

Chuck touched his mike. "Phase one complete. See you when we're done."

"Good luck guys."

Chuck lifted his laptop. "All right team, time to get hacking." He led the way into the ship in search of a connection.

As Carina followed, Casey whispered in her ear, "And here I thought the piranha was a _tropical_ fish."

* * *

On the other side of the ship…

Frost emerged from a hatchway, all in black, followed by her silent shadow in breakaway shackles. It appeared that Volkoff's top lieutenant was simply making her usual rounds, in a different place, but appearances could be deceiving.

"Twenty years I've been working for this," said Frost, her voice almost quivering. _So close, so close!_ She cleared her throat, forced the hope down. "I'd still be waiting, if it weren't for you and your team. Thank you."

Sarah smiled, but put a finger to her lips.

Frost sighed. "I know." The finish line was only in sight, they still had to cross it. Now was not the time to slow down. "I just wanted to make sure it got said, whatever happens tonight." She squared her shoulders, once more firmly in control. "Let's not keep Orion waiting."

* * *

Volkoff was reading quietly in his quarters when the lights suddenly went out. Instantly he slid out of his chair, crawling across the carpet to his desk, and the intercom. No connection. He was on his own.

Light flickered behind him.

Someone pounded on the door. "Father, it's me!" said Vivian. He opened the door and there she was, holding a weapon as Frost had trained her, hands shaking only slightly. She slipped inside and he sealed the hatch behind her. "Are we under attack?"

"Yes," said Volkoff, "But not how you think." He pointed at the only light source in the room.

The big monitor on the wall was lit, displaying only a few words. _I want my wife back, Alexei._

Her father chuckled. "Orion is finally making his move." He uncapped the speaking tube, an antiquity that he was very glad he'd left in place. "Send me Armand."

* * *

On the upper deck…

Chuck tucked his laptop behind a desk, out of sight but not of mind.

Casey looked out the window at the darkened boat, trying to keep track of all the men milling around on deck. "Well, I'd certainly say you've gotten their attention, but I wouldn't have minded some lights on so I could see the mark."

"You'll see him," said Chuck. "He'll be the one walking in straight lines."

* * *

On a lower deck…

Frost emerged from shadow as the tall man strode past, his footsteps brisk and purposeful. She knew of Armand more than she knew him. Volkoff liked to keep his security teams separated, and clearly this man knew his way around Volkoff's floating fortress. He would lead her where she needed to go. "Tonight it ends," she said, a promise or a prayer. She didn't have to tell Sarah to be quiet as they followed Armand into the bowels of the ship.

* * *

Looking down from the upper deck to the lower deck…

"Well, well, well."

"What…?" said Frost, aiming her pistol upwards.

"I'd move if I were you, Casey," said Carina.

Chuck pushed Casey out of the way as he vaulted the rail, landing on the deck below at his wife's feet. He swept her into his arms as the rest of his team descended the stairs.

"I wouldn't have shot him," said Frost.

"I wasn't talking about you," said Carina. She left to keep tabs on their quarry as the others tried to coordinate their plans.

Or not. "You aren't supposed to be here," said Frost. "I have the situation under control."

"Yeah," said Casey. "I saw how much control you had last night."

Sarah let go of Chuck and latched on to Casey for a huge hug.

"Don't sweat it Sarah," said Casey, patting her awkwardly on the back. "Let that be a lesson, next time you try to kill me, bring a bigger building."

"Fine," said Frost. "You can be my backup."

* * *

Carina's marks led then deep within the ship, to the top of a set of stairs. She pointed, and they saw some guards on the next level, in front of a secure door and a computer access panel. They moved into the shadows and waited. Eventually Armand left the room and retraced his steps, returning to his master. Frost raised her pistol and moved toward the stairs. Chuck held up a hand and stuck his finger in the barrel, pushing the gun down. He raised his tranq pistol and shot both guards in the neck. They collapsed, losing consciousness faster than they could yell, move, or aim.

"The benefit of tranq pistols," he said quietly. "Silent but not deadly."

They gathered in front of the door. Chuck plugged in his phone as Casey, Sarah, and Carina dragged the guards away.

Frost looked on with approval. "You came prepared."

Chuck smiled up at her. "What did you bring?"

"Hairspray and shaving gel."

"Wow, you too?" _Gotta love the classics._

"You could just try the key," said Carina, walking up and sliding her trophy through the slot in one motion. "The guard had it on him." She tossed it to Chuck, stepped through the portal, and turned. "Ta-da."

The door slid shut. They heard a shout, something monosyllabic and probably not very polite. "What's happening?" said Chuck.

"Lasers," said Carina. "Very powerful lasers."

"Hold on, Carina, I'll get you out. I'm opening the door right…now."

"Wrong door, genius."

"If you can get through it you should be able to disable the lasers and open the door," said Frost.

"…You're kidding, right?"

"Come on, Carina, you're always going on about how limber you are, how flexible…" said Chuck.

"That's true."

"This should be a piece of cake for you."

"It should be."

"Or are you just gonna let Volkoff have his way with you?"

"Them's fightin' words, mister. I'm the only way-haver in _this_ room!"

Chuck and Frost listened as Carina moved, slid, squirmed, and wiggled her way through the barrier, grunting and groaning with the effort and some of the contortions she was putting herself through.

Someone large grunted over their heads as they listened at the door. "She better not be doing what it sounds like, Bartowski."

"Lasers, Casey."

Heh. "Hurry it up, Miller," he said loudly, "Haven't got all night."

"Goddammit. I'm stuck."

Casey raised a brow. "You?"

"Yeah, me. I don't normally practice the Kama Sutra with fins on my shoes."

Chuck went back to his controls. "Hold on, Carina."

"Oh, oh, no! Stop! They're moving! Ah! Hey!"

Frost got out her hairspray just as the screen under Chuck's thumbs blinked green. The door opened, and they saw the blue glow of the lasers as they winked out, leaving nothing but scraps of rubberized cloth. "Carina?"

She stepped out and stood in the doorway. "Guess it's a good thing I wore underwear this time."

* * *

Frost shouldered her way past, finally within sight of her goal.

Chuck moved past her, with a quick murmur of "Glad to see you're all right." His eyes looked into hers, full of concern.

Casey moved past, looking anywhere but at her.

Carina looked at the last member of the team with fading hopes. "Show me some love, Sarah?" Sarah gave her a coat. "Oh, come on!" Then she realized how bloody cold it was in that room, and shrugged into the coat gratefully. She'd made Casey avert his eyes, and Chuck act all gentlemanly, that would have to do.

Frost was busy moving holographic screens around, while Chuck was over in the corner admiring the hardware and Casey and Sarah checked for all the bad stuff.

"We're in time," said Frost. "Alexei hasn't managed to make another backup yet. The only head for this Hydra to go to is ours!"

"Voice identification required," said the computer.

"Mom?"

"Got it," said Frost. She pulled a preprogrammed phone, with only one app on it, and plugged it in. "It's loaded with most of the commonest words in the language, spoken by Alexei. Like an electronic lockpick, but with words." She activated the app.

Alarms blared.

"Time to go," said Carina.

"You go," said Frost. "I came here to finish it and that's what I'll do, even if I have to scuttle the ship to make it happen."

"Let's all go," said Casey, using his mass to herd everyone toward the door.

The door opened in front of them, but all the armed men behind it prevented them from making an exit. They backed against the computers, so no one would try to shoot them out of hand. The room secure, Alexei made his entrance, followed by Vivian and Armand. Alexei's glare swept the room, but lingered on the one he'd trusted most.

"Faster than even I expected," he said. "When your husband declared his intentions I took immediate steps to secure all the things I valued most. Hydra will no longer accept electronic inputs, but it never occurred to me that you would be so willing to be taken as he is to take you from me."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Alexei. I burned those bridges years ago. The only people in America who even know I'm alive think I'm a traitor."

"Then explain this to me." He pulled her close and tapped at a screen, bringing up a recent file. _I want my wife back, Alexei._ "Anything to say, Frost?"

Chuck stepped out from behind a server. "Only that you're talking to the wrong wife."


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N** One of my personal favorite chapters. Sarah gets her miracle, restoring her voice, while Vivian moves ever faster down that slippery slope. The whole breaker-taker-maker-fixer thing just popped into my head while writing Frost's scenes.

* * *

Frost stared at her son in surprise. Her own plans ruined, he was her only hope to retrieve something from this fiasco that didn't involve high explosives and a high body count. Not the way she wanted her career in the CIA to end. She was a taker, not a breaker.

Somehow Chuck had remained concealed when all the gun-toting thugs had pushed them up against the walls, but now he'd thrown away that slight tactical advantage, a level of subtlety she'd never have expected from him. As good as he was with his dart gun, he could have taken out all the goons in seconds, but lost the real chance. Alexei would simply go on the defensive, and they needed him to remain open. Safe behind his men, secure in his control of the situation, he was at his most vulnerable.

How odd that Chuck saw that and was ready to exploit it. The nine-year-old she remembered so well had never been much of a planner, but that was twenty years ago. What did she know about him now? Not as much as she ought to have, obviously. What she'd said to Alexei weeks ago was true, but not in the way she thought. Her son was her weakness, a gap in her knowledge. The man she'd met in the playground hadn't seemed so different from the boy she'd left behind. Butting into that meeting with Wainwright was exactly the sort of thing the son she knew would do, and she butted him out again as harshly as she dared.

Then Ellie, solid, trustworthy Ellie, told her Chuck really was Mr. Charles, and she realized how much Mother Mary had made a hash of Agent Frost's plans. Fortunately, and through no plan of her own, since then she'd spent more time with his team than with him. They spoke as eloquently about the man as the man himself did, and in more manageable amounts.

Sarah. A wife that frightened a cadre of armed guards that she herself had trained. Terrorizing most of Thailand was also pretty good. She would die for Chuck. She would kill for Chuck. Most important she lived for Chuck, and really, what more could any mother-in-law ask for?

Casey and Miller. Clearly breakers, the pair of them. A team that thought 'Chuck has a plan' was equivalent to 'we're gonna kick ass and take names', and they would ride that plan even if it was a roller-coaster ride through Hell itself. They'd make whatever mess Chuck wanted them to make.

He'd _graduated_ spy school as a Special Agent, a level of autonomy and authority that most agents never achieve. _Oh my god, he outranks me!_

At nine he'd been a breaker himself, but somewhere along the line he'd learned to be an even better fixer, rarer than rare. She could only wait, be prepared, and hope he could fix this.

* * *

Vivian peeked shyly over her father's shoulder. He was here. He was here! _And didn't he look wonderful in that form-fitting…ooh._

Would he remember her?

Vivian took a step to the right, out of Agent Charles' direct line of sight but his eyes didn't move. Of course he was staring at her father, everyone always did. Unless she tried to make herself even the slightest bit presentable, then she'd get the world's attention, but who'd want it?

Her hair needed fixing, her clothes were all wrong. The one time she looked decent, she'd had a mask on! _Why me?_

* * *

"Agent Charles," said Alexei, sounding pleased. His men were less pleased, shifting aim and positions to cover the new arrangement of targets. "Come for the missus?" He burst out laughing. "You didn't need to go to all this trouble, you know," he said, his jovial tone sliding into menace. "I'd have mailed her back to you with just a phone call."

Chuck said nothing, his face unrevealing of his thoughts.

"That's the problem with your generation," said Alexei, suddenly. "No panache! There's no style, no verbal sparring, the give and take that makes villainy worth engaging in. Orion would have given me a bit of what-for, before we got down to brass tacks."

"Orion grew up and moved on," said Chuck. "He left you to me, as a sort of…graduation exercise." Which was kind of insulting to everyone else on his team but they would know he had to keep Volkoff's attention focused on him right now.

"A touch!" Volkoff clapped a hand to his chest melodramatically. "A touch, I do confess it! Still, you have some shoes to fill, I'm sure you're aware. I assume you have a plan."

"I'm sorry, Alexei," said Chuck. "Are you asking me to make the classic villain mistake of explaining my dastardly plot?" Suddenly he smiled. "You know what, I'd love to." He stepped forward, leaving the safety of his position between the servers. "Once Agent Walker revealed the nature of Hydra to us–in Rio, just in case you missed that turn–I have to admit we had no real idea where to go looking for your little bolt hole here. I decided to let you lead us to it. So, on behalf of the CIA, and the NSA, I'd like to say…I really hope you got a good deal on this crappy old tub, considering what it cost you."

The rumble of jet engines somewhere above their heads, above the ship itself, penetrated the insulation of the room. Chuck dusted off his hands. "Hydra captured, something I can check off my to-do list."

Volkoff shook his head sadly. "Charles, Charles, you've made an elementary error. There's a big difference between contained and captured. Allow me to demonstrate." At his gesture, men stuck guns into Chuck's face. "I may be contained, temporarily, but y _ou_ are captured. Do you see your mistake now?" Volkoff dusted off his hands. "A lesson for you, Agent Charles. _Real_ professionals know what they're about."

Chuck's voice went up an octave. "That's not really relevant, is it? As long as it's on this boat Hydra isn't going anywhere but a CIA computer."

Volkoff looked down at the screen where Frost had been working. "Since you were already planning to transmit Hydra to your computer, I see no reason why I can't transmit it to mine." He moved screens around with swift and certain flicks of his fingers, entering new destination codes. "The downside to mere containment. Much easier to escape than capture."

"Voice identification required," said the computer.

Volkoff leaned close to the speaker, but he stared at Chuck the entire time. "'Death is the solution to all problems.'"

"Voice identification accepted," said the computer's speaker in a pleasant female monotone. "Welcome to the Hydra Mainframe Interface . How may I help you?"

Frost pressed her lips together. _Oh Chuck, you didn't…_

Volkoff frowned down at the screen. "What?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Please identify yourself for access."

He leaned close to the speaker and enunciated very clearly. "I am Alexei Volkoff."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Did you say 'nine pallets of oilcloth'?"

Carina covered her mouth with one hand, while Casey coughed into his fist.

Alexei Volkoff found himself with a passionate desire to throw something on the floor, but he had an image to uphold. He drew a finger across the screen, glaring daggers at his nemesis. "What have you done, Charles?"

"I'm sorry," said the computer, "I didn't get that…"

Volkoff looked down, slashing at the screen again, but it didn't clear. "Blast."

"Did you say 'flashed'?" asked the computer helpfully.

Alexei took off his coat, folded it up, and placed the wad of cloth over the speaker.

"You did say it would no longer accept electronic inputs," said Chuck, his voice low and calm once again. "I needed your voiceprint to really, you know–" he dusted his hands together slightly "– _capture_ it, so, thank you for that."

Frost watched Volkoff's face go white, then red. He took a deep breath, and all the henchmen readied their weapons. Suddenly Volkoff burst out laughing, applauding his foe. "Well done, Charles, well done. It's true what they say, there's no fool like an old fool." He sighed. "Except a new fool. You do realize there's a step down from 'captured', don't you?"

Chuck shrugged. "Yes, but so what?" he said in Russian. "Those machine guns are good for show, but you can't use those things in here, unless you plan to kill Hydra too. You can't kill us, Alexei."

The guards look around hesitantly, suddenly aware that they were effectively unarmed.

Volkoff pulled his pistol. "But I can use _this_ in here and I can kill _you_ , Agent Charles!"

* * *

 _Oh God, that was just his opening move…?_

Of course it was, it had to be. The HMI was a good ploy, but it was just a ploy. It could be defeated with time, so Chuck had to deny Volkoff the time. Stripping away his 'protection' was a good move, but so very dangerous.

Frost tensed, well aware that an armed Vivian stood behind her. She'd been trained to use the gun properly, but no amount of training could make her use it, and Frost had no idea which way she'd jump.

Chuck made a casual gesture and she settled back, taking her cue from him. She only had one card to play in this game and she had to play it right.

* * *

Chuck smiled, not even looking at the guns. "So I guess this would be a good time to tell you that I'm not Agent Charles?"

"Another one of your tricks?" sneered Volkoff.

"No trick, Alexei," said Chuck calmly. "If I've learned one thing about the spy world, all right, _two_ things, it's that the best place to hide something from a spy is in plain sight. Agent Charles was an alias, an illusion. You didn't penetrate it, so I decided to make it easy for you. He's already dead, I killed him last night."

"I suppose next you're going to tell me that Agent Walker really is your wife."

Chuck raised his hand, and held out a gold ring. "You learn quickly, Alexei. I'm impressed." He knelt down amongst friends and enemies alike, holding the ring out to Sarah between thumb and forefinger. "Please?"

Sarah stepped forward and held out her left hand. Chuck slid the ring into its proper place.

* * *

"NO!" shrieked Vivian, drawing her gun.

Frost and Alexei reacted instinctively, pulling back from her line of fire, exposing yet more of the tableau to Vivian's horrified eyes. Charles, kneeling. Walker, grinning fiendishly, casting the room into darkness as she pulsed with a hideous, blood-red light.

Chuck looked up at the sound and saw a gun pointing at Sarah. He rose to stand between them.

 _Defending that…trollop!_ Every worthwhile thing in Vivian's life was done because of him, and now what? Vivian's thoughts ran ever faster, as splinters and shards of emotion attached to words sheared off in all directions. Wife! Married.

Tricked. Used. He'd been making a fool of her all along! The gun followed her rage to its new target.

* * *

Frost grabbed the gun in proper fashion, pushing the barrel up and away, twisting the body to either make Vivian let go or break her fingers. The move took Vivian by surprise, and she came out of it with fingers intact. Frost stepped around Vivian as Alexei raised his own weapon, keeping her neck in a choke hold, and pressed the gun against the back of her head.

Vivian froze, reminded forcibly that Frost was a very practiced and efficient killer.

"You really shouldn't have done that, Vivian," Frost said fiercely. "I have no quarrel with you, but you pointed a gun at my son and I can't allow that."

* * *

Alexei's gun fell out of line. "Your son. Really?"

"Yes, Alexei," said Mary Bartowski. "Agent Charles is my son."

"That's Bartowski, Mom," said Chuck. "Special Agent, you know what, never mind."

Volkoff looked at Chuck. "Really?"

Really her son or really a Special Agent? Same answer either way, but one was more insulting. "Really."

Alexei lowered the gun, and turned to look at Chuck, then back at Frost. "I should have known. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Back to Chuck. "So you were working with Orion all along?"

"Uh, well, no," said Chuck. "Otherwise we wouldn't have stepped on mom's plan like that. Heh." He made a show trying to see his mother behind Vivian. "Sorry, Mom."

"It's okay, dear," said Frost. "These things happen."

"Very true," said Volkoff sympathetically. "Your mother was a genius at finding little pinch points like that, Charles. Such stories I could tell you…" He held the gun up to his shoulder. "Well, this is a tangle, I must say." He looked over at Frost/Vivian. "I've got your son, but I don't dare threaten him–"

"I would end you," said Frost.

Volkoff turned to Chuck, grinning, shaking his fist excitedly. "And she would, too, even if it doomed us all. Not one for empty threats, your mother." Then he looked back at Frost/Vivian. "Of course, I feel the same way about my daughter, so we're all equal there. My men are aware of the danger they're truly in–and thank you for that little revelation, Charles–so it's really just a matter of time before one of them does something stupid, sparking off a chain of events that would likely result in all our deaths. We appear to be in a degenerating stalemate."

"I accept your surrender," said Chuck.

Volkoff got a good laugh at that, and put his gun away. "I did say 'appear', didn't I, Charles? As Frost just reminded me, these things happen. Hydra makes a new restore point every twelve hours, which is tied to my retina scan. No voice input required."

Armand took the hint and activated the scanning station.

"Ah," said Chuck weakly, "How clever of you."

"Oh, don't be too hard on yourself, Charles," said Volkoff, oozing sincerity. "You played a good game for a beginner, but you trumped your own ace. That's no way to win. Better luck next time." Armand went to stand directly in front of Chuck as Alexei took his position in front of the scanner. Sarah pushed Chuck further back, taking a position in front of Armand.

Chuck watched over both their shoulders as Alexei looked into the cowl, as light bloomed on the skin around his eyes. As Alexei Volkoff slid away from the console and fell on the floor in a heap.

Frost loosened her grip in surprise, but Vivian was a daughter, not a fighter. "Father!" she cried, pushing out of Frost's grasp to run to her father's side.

Armand turned at the terror in her voice, his last mistake.

Carina dropped her coat and struck a pose. The henchmen ogled, their last mistake.

"Put your coat back on," said Casey as they gathered weapons and secured the former bearers.

"Don't be jealous." Still, she put her coat on. Wouldn't do to distract the poor boy.

Chuck and Sarah ran to Volkoff's side. "You murderer!" screamed Vivian. She attacked him, but Frost got to her before Sarah could.

"I better not be," said Chuck, feeling for a pulse. There it was, good and strong. "There we go," he said in relief.

Sarah knelt by her husband's side, relieved at his relief. Her husband was a good man. The best man.

"Chuck, what did you do?" asked Frost.

"You remember that panel in our basement?" Chuck asked, and Frost nodded. "El– _Doctor_ perfected the code. I'm sorry I trumped your ace, Mom, but I had to make sure he looked into the retina scan." He reached up and grabbed Hartley's coat from where he'd covered the speaker, putting it under his head as a pillow.

"Oh, thank God," said Frost, closing here eyes and resting her head against the nearest surface, which happened to be Vivian's shoulder.

"What does that mean?" said Vivian angrily. "What did you do to him?"

"I, uh…hmm. Not really sure how to explain it."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that…"

"Agent Bartowski zero-zero-one."

"Hibernation mode activated."

Frost raised her head and sniffed. "Your father's real name is Hartley Winterbottom," she said to Vivian. "His cover identity was Alexei Volkoff. He…developed a form of amnesia, and came to believe his cover identity was his real identity."

"Really?"

Frost sighed. "No, not really, but it's the only version of the truth I can give you." She let the younger woman go. "The details are extremely classified."

Vivian held on to Frost's arm, the strongest support around. "So when he wakes up, he'll be this Hartley person? Will he remember me?"

"I don't know, Vivian. I hope he does, but that's all I hope he remembers. Hartley was a kind and gentle man. The memories of what he did as Volkoff can do nothing but hurt him."

Carina and Casey came up just then, laden with stolen gear. "We need to get a move on, Chuck," said Casey. "Those jets don't exactly hover, you know."

Chuck looked up at Carina, saw her lips looking a little purplish, and not from bruising. "You and Carina, take Vivian with you. With Volkoff down, she's the closest thing to an authority on the ship." He looked up at the former Miss Volkoff, not sure what she was now. "Vivian, we need your help. The ship and Hydra will be taken into custody, but I don't want any blood spilled doing that. Can you help us, get your men to stand down?"

She nodded. "All right."

Once they left Chuck contacted General Beckman.

"Agent Bartowski, what is your status?"

Grinning, Chuck gave his mother the go-ahead. "General Beckman, this is Agent Mary Bartowski, code named Frost, reporting the successful completion of Project Isis." She was shivering, and it had nothing to do with the cold. How long she'd waited to say that!

"Congratulations, Agent Frost."

Tears were leaking from Frost's eyes, but her voice was steady. "Not me. It was all Chuck's doing."

Sarah took his hand.

"No agent succeeds alone, Mary, but I'm sure you know that. The Hydra database is secured?" asked Beckman.

Frost nodded, and smiled nostalgically, not that Beckman would see either. "With a toy program my husband developed as a joke." Now her voice started to go.

Sarah's thumb rubbed Chuck's wedding ring, tracing the circle around his finger. Round and round.

"And Alexei Volkoff?" asked Beckman, less certainly.

"Checking now, General," said Chuck, unzipping his suit. He pulled out a slim cylinder and slammed it against Hartley's leg.

Hartley's breathing sped up, and Chuck leaned his head down close. "What is your name?" After a few seconds, he said again, "What is your _name_?"

Frost saw Hartley's chest rise and fall, but the sounds of the room masked anything else.

Chuck looked up. "He said 'Hartley'!"

Sarah's fingers hurt, and she looked down. She was squeezing her husband's ring. Her ring, on his finger, eternal and endless.

So calming.

Frost smiled, happier than she could remember. "And he saved Hartley."

"Excellent work, Agents Bartowski. Together you have hindered the development of Volkoff's criminal empire, captured his entire operation at one stroke, depleted the population of criminal elements throughout Europe, and saved the life of an innocent man. The President will hear of this." It wasn't often she got to be the bearer of glad tidings, so she took every opportunity she could get.

Sarah took her hand away from Chuck's. "Look at that," she said, her voice a tad rusty. "I win again."

Chuck forgot everything else. "Sarah?"

"I love you," said Sarah, pressing her lips to his, and for them the world became a very small place, just big enough for two.

"I'm sorry," said Beckman. "I didn't get that."

"Nothing, General," said Frost, drinking it in. "When can we expect support?"

"The Royal Navy is sending a prize crew. After our incursion on their soil, we had to give them a piece of the action. You'll be extracted by chopper and fast-tracked back home."

"No rush, General," said Frost. _Home is where the heart is._ "We'll be here."


	57. Moving On

**A/N** I somehow screwed up my chapter count. Instead of every three days I have to post these last three episodes, 12 chapters, every other day to make the story complete by my target date. These three episodes are not the finale for Vivian so much as a setup for season three, in which Vivian is much more of a Big Bad than she ever was in canon.

* * *

At a secure facility somewhere in England...

"I'd like to see my father, please."

The man at the desk was polite but not particularly responsive to the sight of an attractive young woman smiling at him. "His name?"

"Winterbottom. Hartley Winterbottom."

His lip quivered. "You're joking. No one names a person that."

She _looked_ at him. His incipient laughter choked to a stop.

"I'll just check, then." He looked at his screens for a good while before he turned back to the young woman and said, "I'm sorry miss, we have no record of anyone named Winterbottom at this facility."

"Fudge." Her face crumpled, but he was immune to that too. Her shoulders slumped, the picture of defeat. "Thank you."

He nodded. "Good day, miss."

The young woman left the building, rounded the corner, and headed for the taxi stand.

"You're being followed," said a voice in her ear. "We count three."

"About bloody time," snarled Vivian, pitched too low for the microphone to pick it up. "I'll head to the flat on Gregory. Prepare for tonight."

* * *

At a secure facility somewhere in America...

"I'd like to see my mother, please."

The attendant smiled up at him. "Good morning, Mr. Bartowski. I'll call to see if she's available."

Of course she was, Chuck knew his mother's schedule, but trying to break the attendants of their rituals was an exercise in futility. "Certainly." Maybe things were different in other facilities, but when you had spies for your clientele, a few extra precautions sounded like a good idea.

As always, the check ended with "You're all set, sir." She handed him a sticker, and pointed the way, knowing that he already knew it. As he approached the door it buzzed and he pushed through.

"Hey, Juan."

"How you doing, Special Agent?" said Juan. It was a bit of a joke between them. The first time Juan asked Chuck his name, not only had Chuck pulled the old James Bond routine, but he gave himself a promotion to boot. That Chuck had since earned the promotion for real just made it better.

"When I find out I'll let you know."

Juan gave him a funny look, but waved him on his way. In this section the doors were usually kept shut, often locked, but Mary Bartowski's door was always open. Unlike most of her fellows on this level, she was here voluntarily, part of her decompression. For twenty years she'd worked alone, immersed in a group of people, mostly men, with a decidedly skewed worldview. With the fall of Volkoff, and the end of one of the longest covert operations in CIA history, assistance was provided (and to some extent mandated) to bring her back into what was considered to be normal society.

Despite the open door, Chuck knocked politely. "Hi, Mom, Doc. What are you doing?"

Mary put the dice down. "I'm introducing Dr. Dreyfus to one of Alexei's favorite games, a Russian version of Risk called 'All Yer Base', don't ask me why."

Chuck didn't have to. "I've never heard of that one. We should have you and Casey over for game night."

"That's an excellent idea, Chuck. You should do exactly that," said Dreyfus.

"You looking for an invite too, Doc?"

Dreyfus shook his head. "Not at all, this is purely professional. The stylized behaviors of a game are very indicative of a patient's status, and they serve as a diversion to let you study your subject in a more natural setting, without being too obvious about it."

 _Now_ you tell her. "And what does this game tell you about my mother?"

"That she's going stir crazy, but is willing to tolerate my ridiculous requests if it will get her out of here one day sooner." Dreyfus swept his tokens from the board. "Mary, this is an awful game. Go home."

She looked pleased, but surprised. "You're discharging me?"

Dreyfus took her hand in his. "Agent Bartowski, everything you've done for the past twenty years has been to protect, but ultimately to return to, your family. I can think of nothing better for you than to be with them now." He gestured at Chuck. "If anyone can bring you up to speed on popular culture, he can. If anyone can withstand and assist you with the occasional stumble along the way, it would be him and his wife. And they're in the Need-To-Know pool, so you see, it's a no-brainer."

She saw. "Let me get packed."

"You're not packed already?" asked Chuck.

"Chuck," said Dreyfus imperatively. "Can I speak to you out in the hall, while your mother gets her things?"

It wasn't really a request. Dreyfus shut the door. "Chuck–"

Chuck put a finger to his lips, and attached a ticker to the door, just in case. "Okay, Doc, shoot."

"Chuck, the odds are very good that your mother will never be an active field agent again. I'm counting on you and Sarah to help her transition into a different life, a new role."

Chuck ran his fingers through his hair nervously. "You know, Doc, when most people say 'hit me with your best shot, I can take it', it's usually just a figure of speech…"

Dreyfus nodded. "Yes, well, fortunately, you're not 'most people'. She'll need your help, being a spy is all she knows. You need to help her get out of that mindset whenever possible."

Great. He had to stand up to his mother. "Shouldn't you be doing that here…?"

"She needs to be able to relax." Dreyfus spread his hands, indicating the facility as a whole. "We have too much security she doesn't control."

 _Way to push the buttons, Doc._ "Gotcha."

"She'll do fine, Chuck. I knew your mother was ready to go the day she finished unpacking."

"Uh, what day was that?"

"About ten days after she started. She'd been going back and forth for a very long time, but that day I knew she'd made up her mind, at least for now."

"Made up her mind about what?"

Dreyfus patted him kindly on the shoulder. "Mothers unpack, Chuck, spies don't."

* * *

Inside a command vehicle, somewhere in England…

Vivian was no spy, she hired people for that. Plenty of operatives got cashiered for any number of reasons, skills intact and looking to use them. Thank God no one had yet figured out a way to make removable skills, think what that would do to the mercenary market.

She shook off that nightmare, so she could watch the people she employed use their skills in her service. Father was always warning her about subordinates, especially those with ability. They had to be carefully controlled, otherwise they might start looking after their own interests instead of hers, and she couldn't allow that.

All she wanted was her father back, not too much to ask, but the British Government seemed to think so. They'd certainly tied enough cans to her tail, or thought they had. A smile flickered across her face at the thought of all those ever-so-loyal agents cooling their heels, watching her empty little bed-sitter.

They would be the lucky ones tonight.

"Movement on the dock."

"Miss Volkoff, Agent Smith reports activity at the flat."

The movement on the loading dock was what they expected, so she turned her attention to the unusual. "What sort of activity?"

"Enemy at the gates."

"What, take me while they move him?"

"A perfect distraction, is how they look at it," said the leader of the operation. "Probably hit us with decoys while they've got you busy. The usual tricks."

"Decoys?" She didn't have the men for that. "How will you know which one?"

"That's simple, they all are, that's why I sent you in when I did. They need to move him, but they have no time to gather resources. We're waiting for shift change." He tapped a monitor, showing the front gate. "I expect a group of men to clock out together. It'll be the man at the center of that group that you want to get a hold of."

* * *

Back at Chuck's place…

"I just can't imagine Starbuck as a girl."

"I know, right," said Chuck, turning the wheel, toward a driveway made of brick, lined with flowers. The house beyond matched the entrance.

"That pile just invites an attack."

"It does stick out, doesn't it?" said Chuck as he reversed into his own driveway. "Not at all in keeping with the neighborhood's rustic aesthetic."

"Very true. I'd blow it up for that alone." Mary unbuckled her seatbelt as the car stopped, but didn't try the door. "So what's wrong with Sarah?"

Fortunately the car was already stopped, or the garage door would have suffered. "Nothing," said Chuck. "She's perfectly fine. Just a little…clingy." A clingy spy.

"A little? Chuck, she broke out of a maximum-security holding facility. Twice. To do what?"

"To, um, crawl into bed and sleep with me?" He'd managed to bring her back, but only the first time. After that just about everyone recognized the therapeutic value of keeping them together. Dreyfus sending his mother home early was just more of the same, except she probably had a different definition of clingy. A clingy maternal spy. _Oh, God._

"Exactly."

"She gets nightmares."

"Thank you."

"So if you knew that, why ask the question?" He popped the door and got out.

She got out and continued the harangue right in the driveway. "Because, being …" She looked around "…what I am, I noticed she wasn't with you today, unlike the last twelve."

Right. Here we go. "Couldn't that be a good, what's- _right_ -with-Sarah sort of possibility?" he asked mildly, leaning against the car, looking all relaxed. "We've really got to get you a more cheerful outlook on life."

He caught her with her mouth open, and for a second she just stood there. Then she closed her mouth, put her hands in her pockets, and inquired pleasantly, "Okay, what's right with Sarah?"

Chuck smiled. "Her friend Hannah's getting married tomorrow, today's the rehearsal."

"She's in the party?" asked Mary, who somehow never really thought of Sarah as having normal friends, with normal concerns.

"Matron of honor," said Chuck.

Mary came around the car toward him. "I wish I could have seen the bachelorette party."

"Sarah brought in Ellie, as a consultant." He fumbled his keys out of his pocket. "Carina offered to help, but they declined. Politely."

Mary smiled. If Casey hadn't pushed Carina to commandeer some clothes, she'd have gone from the Contessa to the Lord Roger with a smile on her face and very little else on the rest of her. And she'd _been_ Sarah's ironically-named maid of honor, so trying to bump her off that assignment wouldn't have flown. "Should I ask?"

"You don't have to, we saved the better headlines in our photo album."

She'd pulled out most of their albums weeks before, partly to read but mostly to camouflage the little book of pictures she left behind. "I must have missed that one."

"Well, come on in, we'll get you settled and you can read all about it with a nice mug of tea." He unlocked the door into the house.

"I hate tea."

Probably something Volkoff drank a lot of. "Did I say tea? I meant coffee."

"Of course you did. And maybe after we're done with all that, you can tell me this deep dark secret you've been keeping all day."

"Mom?"

"Spy, Chuck. Remember?"

* * *

Staying in the car, in England…

Quitting time. Men went in, men came out, slightly more out than in. The guard station was temporarily overwhelmed, as an ambulance, a courier van, and a laundry truck all tried to exit at once. The video was crap, but her team lead was able to identify them all for her.

"Laundry?" said Vivian. "At this hour?"

The leader gave her an amused grin, but he was too busy on his radio to talk. "Speed-demon, come around from the North."

"The one direction the decoys _haven't_ gone," said Vivian, trying to keep up.

The leader nodded. "There we are," he said, pointing at the monitor on his laptop. "Four men carpooling, three in the back and one driver." He passed on the make and model of the vehicle to the incoming team.

Vivian sat still for a few minutes, but finally her patience gave out. "What are they waiting for?"

"For us to commit," said the leader. His radio clicked twice. Speed-demon was in position. "All right, gents, take them down."

Three loud explosions sounded in the distance, in three different places. The sedan in the parking lot pulled out even as the speaker announced, "Movement at the flat!"

"We aren't really attacking them?" asked Vivian urgently. This was supposed to be a peaceful operation. The flat was only rigged with gas grenades.

"No," said her chief henchman dismissively. "Just a few VI axle-busters. We scattered them around the approaches."

Vivian smiled. The little magnetic mines would sound like a team of gunners, disabling the vehicles without actually harming the occupants. Making her point but without making more of an enemy out of the SIS than she had to. "And the target?"

"Heading north, as expected. Looks like he's making a right turn. Thought they might."

"Why?"

"Look at the map," he said, unfolding a paper copy and pointing to one section. "That part of the city's all straight lines, can see an attack coming a mile away."

"Then won't they see your car as it comes?"

"Yeah, I expect they will. You still buckled in, Miss?"

Vivian turned and looked out the window of the vehicle they were commanding the operation from. A car was waiting to turn into the oncoming lane just ahead of them. He couldn't be serious. "A car this size?"

"Packs a wallop, she does. She's all engine, gets the armor going."

Her father was in that car.

She looked back at the leader. _In for a penny…_ "Well?"

He nodded approvingly. "You heard the lady, Miles."

* * *

Sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee...

"It'll never happen."

"Mom, what did we say about that positive outlook?"

"Chuck, it's not about my outlook. You and Sarah? Great. Ellie and Devon? Fabulous. I'm just vibrating with positivity over here."

"I thought that might be the coffee."

"It _is_ more caffeine than I'm used to, but mostly it's just you. This is like a dream to me, a miracle."

"So extend the miracle."

She smiled at his faith, so much like his father, always looking for the bright side. "I'll call General Beckman in the morning and thank her, Chuck, but don't expect anything else. I'd settle for reinstatement, but that means back pay, and this much back pay will raise eyebrows, and when eyebrows get raised in Washington doors shut very fast."

* * *

Volkoff Industries, in Moscow...

The doors were locked, the lights were out. The scattered papers had long since settled to the floor, and the dust had long since started settling on the scattered papers. Dustcloths had been rather haphazardly thrown across the larger items of furniture. Everything about the place said this company was closed for business and would likely stay that way for a very long time.

The yellow tape was a nice touch.

Volkoff was dead. Killed by his enemies, said some. Betrayed by his friends, said others. His empire was up for grabs, and claimants had come out of the woodwork to do the grabbing.

Only to find there was nothing to grab. Electronic transactions, virtual accounting, non-existent warehouses for non-existent stock. The Volkoff Empire was not an empire of people and things but of connections, and no one but him knew where those connections were. They couldn't even find his wealth, but the search for it had long since left his abandoned office behind.

The woman stepping over, under, and through the yellow tape wasn't looking for his wealth, wasn't trying to claim his empire. She didn't want her father's business, she wanted her father, but it looked like she would never see either of them again.

The assault had gone off like clockwork, the little car accelerating to insane speeds even as the other car turned crossed into the other lane, its broadside open for just a few seconds. Their little car rammed it in the back, coming away with barely a dent as the larger vehicle was rendered into scrap.

Speed-demon skidded right in next to the wreck as the command car drove away to the pick-up. Men got out, threw open the doors of the sedan, and extracted the stunned Hartley from the very clutches of his equally-stunned captors. They gently (as mercenaries define the word) placed him in the back of their own vehicle and followed the command car to the pick-up, a large black moving van with the gate down as it moved.

Speed-demon drove up the gate and stopped right behind the command car as the gate rose. Vivian was already out of the smaller car, holding an ice-pack on the back of her neck but otherwise uninjured. With not a lot of room to maneuver, she got into the speed car as the extraction team got out. She gently (as daughters define the word) brushed the hair back from his face. "Father?"

He seemed to get his wits together, focusing on her at last.

"It's me," she said soothingly. "Vivian."

"Who?"

"Vivian," she said again, heart sinking. She'd seen that face before. He'd demonstrated his 'Gregory Tuttle' persona for her, but she found the transformation of her powerful father into that shambling pathetic shell to be unsettling rather than amusing. Not as unsettling as it was now. "My name is Vivian MacArthur," she said, offering her more civilian name, one that Hartley might recognize.

"Hello," he said amiably. "Any relation to Jane MacArthur? I had such a crush on her…"

"My mother."

"I thought so, you're the very image of her." Hartley smiled at some memory. "How is she?"

"She died, long ago," said Vivian bluntly. "I never knew her."

Hartley's face collapsed in lines of sorrow. Not faked. "Oh, I am sorry. I hope she didn't suffer."

Surely that wasn't an apology. Her father never apologized. "She met a man who took what he wanted," she said.

He clasped her hand gently. "You have my most heartfelt sympathies, my dear."

Vivian shot him, one dart to the chest. Hartley never even knew it as he passed out. "Take him away."

"Kill him?"

"No." Mouse or not, he was still her father. "Leave him somewhere, they've got to have trackers looking. They'll find him."

Now, sitting at her father's desk, she wondered if they ever had. She swept a hand across the desk, testing the thickness of the dust, her fingers slightly aware of the ridge of the hole where the Hydra apparatus sat, useless now. The eye smashed. He'd tried to smash it himself. She reached out to touch the statue that he'd wanted to use, a horse much like Artemis. She tried to pick it up.

It wouldn't budge. Her father had lifted it easily but now it seemed part of the desk itself. She twisted it, and felt some give. When had her father had this bric-a-brac mounted? Why?

She felt along the base, and found a little hollow in the metal. She probed it with her finger, but it was no hole, just an irregular dimple. She moved the curtains aside and took a closer look. It wasn't a dimple, no simple flaw in the metal. It was an inverse image.

She pulled out her one remaining treasure from her father, the locket he'd given her so many years ago. _Love, Daddy_ , it said, on the back.

Her father was always so practical with his affections. She pressed the front of the locket into the hole. The horse began to turn, its raised hoof pointing.

Inside the wall, she heard a click.


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N** Mostly First Bank of Evil, with a little CAT Squad thrown in at the beginning. I don't know why I threw in the character of Mr. Carmichael, but I'm very glad I did. He's been a very useful OC, all things considered.

* * *

The sun rose. Birds chirped, as they often do at that hour of day.

Chuck lay in bed, warmer on one side than the other, but today he wasn't wrapped in Sarah's arms as he so often was. He reached out a hand, and found her not far from him, but something was wrong. He ran his hand over her body, the planes, the curves, especially the curves, and then his sleeping mind caught up.

It wasn't the shape–well, for some things it was the shape–it was the texture. Not skin, not one of his T-shirts, not even a nightgown.

He rolled over, eyes shut, and brought a second hand into play. What a delightful puzzle she was. Waist, hips, upper thigh. Aha, that was definitely skin.

"I'll let you keep doing that, but you'll have to buy me breakfast later," mumbled Sarah.

"Maybe I should make you breakfast now," said Chuck, kissing her neck. "Sounds like we'll both need our strength."

She rolled over and pinned him to the bed, both with her body and with a patented Sarah glare, probably more frightening. "You've got quite strength enough, I'd say, and if you think you're going to wake me up like that and then just walk away, I'll take _you_ back to see Dreyfus this time."

"Sounds like somebody didn't get a good night's sleep," said Chuck. "That's what happens when you sleep in your party dress. They have these things called zippers…"

Sarah leaned down and kissed him while he demonstrated. When she sat back up she found she was bare to the waist. "Wow, you geeks _are_ good," she said, pulling her arms free.

He sat up and kissed her back. "Nerds," he said afterward, and in between, "We prefer nerds." He rolled her back over, and suddenly she was bare to her knees. "Let me show you why."

* * *

For the umpteenth time, Vivian flicked a glance at her companion.

"Is something the matter, ma'am?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "It's just that…you bear an uncanny physical resemblance to an American agent of my acquaintance. Lose the mustache and you'd be him to the life."

"So that's why you plucked it." Impersonation possibilities revealed themselves. "Interesting."

"He used to be known as Agent Charles Charles, of the CIA."

Or perhaps a beard. Shaving his head sounded increasingly attractive. "Perhaps madam would prefer a different bodyguard?"

'You cannot conquer your fear unless you experience fear,' as her father used to say. Her real father, not that physical shell. Agent Charles may have breathed more easily that Winterbottom still lived, but he was a murderer in her eyes. "No," she said again, her rising anger overcoming her fear. "I think you'll suit my needs quite well, Mr. Carmichael."

"Very good, ma'am," he said. "Then as your guard let me remind you that the First Bank of Macau caters to all of the high crime syndicates and organizations. If you show weakness they will eat you alive, and I cannot go beyond the gate."

"I thought they knew you."

"They do, but that cuts both ways. I'm what is known in these parts as 'rental meat'. They won't even acknowledge me directly. My reputation gets you to the gate, but no further."

"Yet you seem quite knowledgeable."

"I've escorted a number of persons to these offices, ma'am. Including Georgeanna Huxley."

Her father had coached her extensively on possible rivals and allies. "I've never heard of her."

"My point exactly," said Mr. Carmichael. "If you fail their tests no one will ever hear of you, either."

* * *

Chuck settled back on his side of the bed as Sarah pushed herself upright with trembling arms. "Oh, Mr. Bartowski," she groaned. "You have just…redefined the word 'quickie'."

"Only in the kitchen," he said, tapping his head.

"You're telling me the Intersect has breakfast chef skills in it too?" said Sarah incredulously, picking up a perfectly cooked slice of bacon. "Look at all this!"

Chuck shifted the tray onto her lap and stole the bacon from her fingers with his teeth while he was at it.

"Hey, get your own," said Sarah.

"I did," said Chuck, after a proper bacon-appreciating interval. "You took that from my plate."

She looked at him suspiciously. "How much of this is for you?"

He took his plate, and one of the glasses of juice.

"Thank God, I'm starving!" She started in on the rest of the tray.

"You didn't come home for dinner last night," said Chuck. "I thought Hannah would have fed you."

"Oh, she did," said Sarah, after she drained her juice glass. "But Carina was there too, and she brought Zondra with her."

"I sense a cat-related pun coming up."

"That name was _not_ our idea," snapped Sarah. Well, as much as one can snap with a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Chuck grabbed a napkin and wiped off the bits that sprayed his way while she swallowed. "Sorry. No, no catting about, not with two of us spoken for."

Chuck pointed at the crumpled dress. "Clubbing? Partying until all hours?"

She made a face. "You weren't there. This was just us, you know, being _us_ again. Normally we like to hang around coffee bars and scare the shadowy figures, but this time we did a good bit of fence-mending."

"Oh, yeah, your so-called friend Amy."

"Who you knew was a traitor and let her lead you into a trap _anyway_." She stabbed a slice of melon and started chewing it into submission.

"Zondra wouldn't have believed me if I'd just told her, although Casey did," said Chuck. "I was your husband, of course I couldn't be trusted to be impartial about that. I had to let Amy have her moment." After a moment or two where the only clattering of silverware was his own, he looked up.

Sarah sat there looking at him, eyes glistening. "You walked into a trap for me?" Zondra was one of the few friends Sarah had, and now had again.

He reached out a hand and caught a tear. "Us, wife. Us."

* * *

On the other side of the world…

When Mr. Carmichael walked in the door of the First Bank of Macau, underlings took notice, and word spread quickly. Guillermo Chan himself came out to deal with his newest guests. "I'm afraid we are not accepting new accounts," he said to Vivian.

"I'm already an account holder," she replied. Carmichael, playing his part, held out Miss Volkoff's card to one of Mr. Chan's underlings, who delivered it to his superior.

Mr. Chan scanned it. "We had heard rumors that this account had changed hands. We expected someone to come and claim it before this."

"I knew my father's account was safe here, Mr. Chan. I had some…housekeeping chores to attend to first. You understand."

He understood. Transitions could be messy. He bowed slightly, and gestured. "This way, Miss Volkoff." He would lead this new and potentially valuable client personally. Carmichael took up an alert stance, but she never looked back.

* * *

In the kitchen de Bartowski…

"Mom?" asked Chuck in surprise, as he and Sarah came out of their room, ready for the day. "What are you doing? You're our guest, you shouldn't be making your own breakfast."

"Chuck, I've had servants making my breakfast every day for the last twenty years," said Mary. "And your soundproofing isn't complete." Any excuse to leave the room next door was a good one.

"Ah," gurgled Chuck, turning red. Sarah continued past him as he fumbled with a suddenly-tight collar. "Um…"

Mary ignored his discomfort. "It's honestly a bit refreshing to find out that I still know my way around a kitchen." The smoke alarm started beeping, and Mary turned back to her work. "Chort vozmi."

Chuck turned away , more than willing to break up the uncomfortable scene, and saw his wife at the table, scanning little pieces of paper. "What's that, Sarah?" he asked, walking over.

"Reports, Chuck," she said quietly. "Notices of reprimand for guards we don't have. Your mother must have walked the perimeter last night." In her sleep. She looked over her shoulder. "At least she's not armed. What if that guy down the street decided to walk his dog?"

"Don't worry," said Chuck, with a calming wave of his hand. "I'll take care of it."

"You'll take care of what?" asked Mary, coming towards them with a tray in her hands.

Chuck turned around. "Security logs," he said quickly, feeling Sarah slide up behind him, slipping the papers in his back pocket. "They need to be reviewed and Sarah wasn't here yesterday, so I was just saying I'd take care of them, and let the two of you catch up."

"Sounds lovely," said Mary, putting the tray down, as Chuck left the area. "Sarah, have you eaten yet?"

Sarah was spared the necessity of answering by the triple-chime of an incoming connection, in the living room. Since the division between the living and dining spaces of their house was basically imaginary, they all heard it very well. "One second."

Mary followed, so all three of them were there when General Beckman's image came through. "Agents Bartowski," she said, as if pleased that three greetings could be efficiently summed up in so few words, "I'm sorry to intrude on your family time, but we have a situation in England."

"Hydra?" asked Chuck.

"Hartley?" said Mary.

Beckman nodded. "Hartley Winterbottom's transport was attacked last night, and he was extracted by hostile forces–"

"General, we have to get him back!"

"Relax, Chuck," said the General. "SIS reacquired him within minutes, unconscious in a doorway. Unharmed, aside from the usual injuries from the extraction itself, but he'd been shot with a tranq dart."

"Do we know what happened to him?" asked Mary.

"No. He was very confused when he regained consciousness and has only become more agitated and upset since. They were forced to sedate him. He mentioned a woman."

"Vivian?"

"Almost certainly." A grainy picture from some security footage appeared on the screen. "This was taken just hours before the incident."

"She's looking for her father," said Sarah. It's what she would have done.

"But then why did she leave him?" wondered Chuck.

"He didn't know her," said Frost, remembering Vivian's desperate question on board the Contessa. "His memories of Volkoff are gone."

Beckman looked grim. "That appears to be correct. Specialists in MI5 attempting to debrief him report memory loss starting shortly after he would have uploaded the first file, and gradually increasing. Ellie has been correlating the dates with uploads after that. Orion's program appears to have erased Volkoff completely."

"That's awful," said Chuck. Poor Vivian. The body of someone she loved still walking around, but with what was effectively a different person inside it. No wonder she'd left Hartley behind. "Did I do that?"

Mary put a hand on his shoulder, as Beckman said, "No agent operates alone, Chuck. _We_ did that, Hartley most all, and it gets worse. On an operational front, Vivian herself was last seen in Moscow, but has since dropped off the radar."

* * *

On the vault level of the First Bank of Macau…

"We must stop here, Miss Volkoff."

Vivian looked around. The hall was empty, with just two doors, like an airlock, with a red light over one, while the one they'd just come through was green. "Why?"

Mr. Chan indicated the light. "The hall beyond is occupied. We must wait until it is clear before we can proceed." Just then the light changed. "We may go."

Only once did they encounter another person. A red-lit door popped open, and a man came through, staggering to the far wall and gasping for air. "What do you think you are doing?" asked Mr. Chan severely. "Red doors must remain closed at all times."

"My apologies, Mr. Chan," said the man, "But the halon system went off."

Chan couldn't sound less interested. "So?"

"The respiratory equipment has not been installed. I would have suffocated."

Chan swiped his card on the door, overriding the seal, and the door opened. "An unfortunate accident." The guard accompanying them shoved the technician back into the room, and Chan sealed the door again. He turned to his client, who stared at the door with an expression of grave concern. "As you can see, Miss Volkoff, our client's privacy is paramount."

"Yes, of course," said Vivian. "Thank you."

* * *

In the lab, with Mom...

Once out of the elevator Chuck removed the hood from his mother's head. "Sorry, mom, but until you have your clearances restored…"

"It's all right, Chuck," Mary said. She was so proud. She needed clearance to see her son's job. "Show me."

"Right this way."

The Intersect room was closed, as always, and he put his hand on the scanner with a flourish. The light turned green and the door opened. Chuck waved his mother inside. Mary looked around at the room's paneled walls, the chair where her son did most of his work, the exercise equipment. The cot. "Who's that?"

"Who's what?" said Chuck. "Oh. That's Ellie's assistant. He practically lives here."

Mary dismissed him from her attention. "When I think of the equipment your father started with…" She sighed. "One little screen."

"I wonder sometimes why we have so many," said Chuck, looking around. "It's not like I can see them all."

"Did you ever ask?"

"No. I always figured that, maybe it was for more eyes than just mine, or maybe they didn't know about the paralysis, so they wanted global coverage. Maybe they thought they needed something they could show off to big shots, so they made it look really impressive. Whatever the reason, it looks cool, so I don't care."

His mother smiled. "Spoken like a true nerd. I wish I could see it," she said wistfully.

"It would kill you."

"Okay, that's a downside."

"Plus we don't really use it much anymore. We have other, more lightweight methods to do the same thing, now that I'm out in the field. Since we're all here for the wedding, we're going old school, just for you."

Mary fluffed out imaginary skirts and curtsied. "I'm honored."

"I thought I heard voices," said Ellie, standing by the door. "Hi, mom. Across the hall, little brother. Manoosh, chop chop."

Manoosh flipped off the light blanket. "I was just resting my eyes!" he yelled, rolling off the cot and falling on the floor. "On my way."

"Come on, mom," said Ellie with a smile. "Let me show you where the magic gets made."

* * *

In Macau…

"You have no idea how relieved I was to see you there, Mr. Riley," said Vivian, as Carmichael drove them back to her hotel. "After I saw what they'd done to my father I was afraid I'd lost everyone dear to me."

"Your venture was rash and ill-considered, Vivian," said Riley, who knew only the most mercenary meanings of a word like 'dear' and assumed she meant one of them. "Your father would have been the first to tell you to cut your losses, and take the battle to the people who made you do it." He poured himself a drink from the limo's bar. She could afford it now. "At least one good thing came of it." He took a sip.

"And what would that be, Mr. Riley?"

Ah, the good stuff. "Clearly they haven't cracked Hydra yet. They have no reason to keep your father so closely held otherwise."

"He's not my father!" said Vivian. "He's a spineless little worm, who dreamed he was a man."

"If you say so, Vivian," said Riley, ever willing to stay on her good side. "But he's a spineless worm who's the key to Hydra. As long as they don't yet have it, that means we can get it back."

"And do what with it? Isn't Hydra as useless to us as it is to them, without my father to unlock it?" And how foolish was she to let him go, when she had him in her grasp.

"I don't believe so," said Riley. "We have one thing they haven't got."

"What's that?"

"You. If there's any hope of bringing out whatever scraps of your father may yet linger inside Mr. Winterbottom, it lies with you."

Of course it did. "We have to get him back."

Riley sighed. "That will be much harder to do, a second time. Much more planning, and a lot more money."

She'd already used up most of her money. " _Time_ is one thing I have in abundance."

Riley reached into his pocket, and pulled out a plastic card. "And funds, Miss. Your father planned for you, in every way."

She looked at the card, so like the other one. "His fortune?"

"Of course," said Riley. "Not everything he did went into Hydra. He also had a few more, hmm, speculative ventures in the pipeline. He tended to scatter those."

"Anything useful to us?" Something to destroy all my enemies, leave me safe and untouchable forever?

"One, if it works. Something he called the Norseman."

Significant, or not? The Americans use a random name generator, so enemies can't learn anything about their operations from the name. "What is it?"

"I have no idea." Not that Riley ever let a little thing like that stop him. "We have to check everything. His compound, his offices. If it's real he'd have left something for us to find."

"And while we're sifting through debris, the CIA gets the business and our rivals get our markets," said Vivian. "I'm not in love with your plan."

"I'm a lawyer, not a businessman." He needed, and got, another drink.

"Well, I am a businesswoman, Mr. Riley, and if there's one thing I know about business–"

 _Alexei brushed a smudge on Frost's cheek. "Vivian, what have I told you about business?"_

Vivian stared at the card in her hand. "It's like war."

"What?"

"Business, Mr. Riley," said Vivian softly. "As my father often said, it's like war."

Riley spread his hands, careful not to spill. "Which helps us how?"

"There are lots of ways to win a war, Mr. Riley, some more useful than others," she said contemplatively.

"What do you have in mind?" said Riley. "I may not have veto power, but I think I deserve a chance to provide input."

"It's very simple, Mr. Riley. We're going to let Agent Charles win it for us."


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N** I didn't think I could do much with the wedding/proposal plot, until suddenly Hannah was the fiancee back in episode three. This gave me the opportunity to put the good bits from Wedding Planner into a better context, and do some of the less useful bits differently.

I also enjoyed having an opportunity to describe how the Intersect actually works in Chuck's head, and why there will be no one else who can use it.

* * *

In Ellie's lab…

The room was amazingly empty. Back when her husband had been just starting out, computers that did so much less were far bulkier. Only the number of monitors gave any hint of the work being done. "So this is it?"

Ellie smiled. "Doesn't look like much, does it? The servers are elsewhere, but unless you like cold rooms full of black boxes, there's not a lot to see there."

Mary peeked behind a door and saw a standard hospital bed. "So, what is there to see here?"

"Well…" Ellie looked around. "First, there's your son, my brother, the centerpiece of this whole operation, sitting here, shirtless and shivering, until I can do his physical."

"Every time?"

"Every time. He's our one test subject, we need every data point we can get. Especially now, with him going out into the field."

Chuck spread his arms invitingly.

"You hate it too, don't you?" said Mary.

Chuck's smile faltered. "Guys?"

"He shot a man!" said Ellie.

"I'd be more upset with him if he hadn't, that's no way to support your team" said Mary. She looked Chuck over fondly. "I'm most worried about men shooting him."

"Hellooo," caroled Chuck, waving his arms. "Shirtless guy here."

"Well, I'm not," said Ellie, picking up her tools. "Not as long as Sarah's out there with him." She stuck the stethoscope against his chest .

"Ah, cold, cold," gasped Chuck.

"Blame her," said Ellie. "She's distracting me."

Mary took the hint and watched quietly as her daughter quickly ran down her checklist.

"Well, one good thing from all that training," said Ellie when she finished, "You're in much better physical shape than you used to be. Okay." She handed him his shirt. "Back across the hall."

"I'm really glad you're back, Mom," said Chuck as he buttoned. "You see what I have to put up with? The tyranny, the autocratic control, the tin-plated dictator with delusions of–"

"Button as you walk, Chuck," said Mary. "Chop, chop."

Chuck walked away, grumbling. "I've gotta get some _male_ authority figures in my life."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Ellie and Mary smiled together, while Manoosh wisely kept his head down. "Okay, Mom," said Ellie, "My desk is set up as a secondary control station, so you can watch from here if you like. I can run things from the booth." Not that she wanted to, cramped and alone. Or more cramped, but with company. In here she and Manoosh could spread out and have the best of both worlds.

Mary had had enough of being away from her children. "Can I watch with you?"

"Sure, love the company." Ellie led her mother to a special locked room, and opened the door.

"Cozy." Mary say a few monitors above the panel, but nothing more. "Didn't you ever wish for a window?"

"Thought about it," said Ellie, taking her seat. "But then I figured it would just be a distraction. Everything I need to see I can see." She activated some of the screens. "Remote biometrics and the scanner, body and mind." Thermal imaging showed the only heat source in the room in a seated posture, about where the chair would be. Ellie clicked a button, and a little inset window showed Chuck sitting there. She flicked it out again.

"What about heart and soul?"

"Not my department." Thank God. "She's at Hannah's wedding."

* * *

"Come in."

Sarah opened the door and stepped inside. She looked at her best non-spy friend, standing in front of the mirror in her gown, staring at herself. She looked poised, steady, confident. "Scared?"

"Terrified," gasped out Hannah. "You can tell? Of course you can tell, you're a spy."

"The death grip on your bouquet is a bit of a giveaway," said Sarah, indicating the whitened knuckles of Hannah's hands. "And for the record, I was pretty terrified at my wedding too."

"You were not," said Hannah. "I was there, I saw you. You were glowing, you were about to explode!"

"That was the ceremony," said Sarah, smiling at the memory of that short walk. "The wedding was another story. I had no idea how to be a woman, much less a wife. I was so scared I couldn't even think about it, until you showed up. All that explosive happiness?" Sarah stabbed a finger at her BFF. "Your fault."

Pre-wedding jitters shrank, and shrank some more. "The ceremony after the wedding, and the proposal after the ceremony," said Hannah with a laugh. All the reports from the Volkoff mission had, naturally, passed through her hands. "You are not normal."

Sarah lost the smile. "I'm working on it." At least Hannah was calmer.

Someone knocked on the door. "Time, ladies, please."

Sarah knew that voice, even muffled through the door. She turned and opened it with spy speed.

A man stood on the other side of the doorway, tall, distinguished. He chuckled. "We're not in that much of a rush."

"Sarah, I'd like you to meet our wedding coordinator," said Hannah, coming up from behind with a rustle of cloth. "After that fiasco with Ms. Peralta we really did our homework. Mr. Burton here came highly recommended, from a congressman, no less. Mr. Burton, this is Sarah Bartowski, my matron of honor."

Jack Burton took his daughter's hand like the complete stranger he was. "Charmed."

* * *

 _Oh, yes, the wedding._ Where all of them would be, but for this. Her kids knew their duty when it called. "What's this one for?" Mary asked, pointing to a blank screen.

"That's for the upload itself, just a screen, no emitters or anything. I usually leave it off, it gives me a headache."

"Can I see it?"

"Be my guest." Ellie turned it on for her. "Manoosh, status?"

"Dataset encryption complete and loaded, panels are green across the board," said her assistant, followed by, "Batteries to power, turbines to speed."

"What?' said Ellie, confused at the addition.

"Batman," muttered Mary, and she leaned closer to the pickup. "Roger, ready to move out."

Ellie flicked off the speaker in the middle of Manoosh's happy chuckle. "Really, Mom, you're as bad as the children."

Worse. "In my case it's pure self-defense."

"From what?" asked Ellie with a laugh.

"Russian TV."

Ellie's smile turned into something less smile-like. "Okay." She activated the speaker. "Upload commencing."

The screen in front of Mary lit up, images pouring across it with bewildering complexity, no story to them, no rhyme or reason. Dancing girls and nuclear explosions shared the screen with car chases and puppy shows. Mary's head started to hurt, trying to impose sense on the senseless.

"Look at this, Mom," said Ellie, and Mary turned away from the painfully hypnotizing mix.

The biometrics were up, thermal imaging showing the man moving only a little. The scanner was the real marvel. The lines in it expanded, bookshelves filling with every encyclopedia ever written, and maybe the OED for kicks.

"Watch this," said Ellie, and she clicked the mouse.

The screen colored, alpha waves, betas, and all. And a fifth wave, strangely regular, except when it wasn't. Some part of it was always dancing, a frenzy of activity that ended with the frenzied section merging with one of the other waves and the fifth going into a new frenzy somewhere else.

Ellie gestured at the screen she didn't want to look at. "Images." She tapped the monitor, where the latest frenzy was scrambling. "Data."

"What is that?" asked Mary, touching the regular part of the line.

"That is Chuck's brain in self-defense mode," said Ellie, with less than her usual confidence. "We think. Chuck snuck into Dad's lab and saw the upload test when he was nine, so we think this is his brain's response, whole sectors of his brain are active but empty, putting out this–" she tapped the little line, "Carrier wave. These sections only seem to recognize the upload as input, though. Which is good. Normal sensory input would be much harder to erase."

The problem of erasing the data had dominated Mary's life for two decades. "How do you do that?"

"For this, it's easy. We simply upload the inverse signal of the original upload. His brain imprints that and goes back to normal." But Ellie knew that wasn't what her mother really wanted to know. "Hartley's case was much more complicated. The singletons he got were all uploaded as test cases for different versions of the code. Once Mrs. Winterbottom got those files to us Dad, Manoosh, and I were able to make a program that looked for each one. It's hopelessly ugly code but we only needed it to work once."

The board beeped, and the third screen went blank again. Ellie leaned toward the mike. "Chuck, how are you feeling?"

The thermal image shifted into a more reclining posture. "Same old, same old." The arms moved. Ellie turned on the visual again and they saw he was putting on headphones.

"Go to it."

* * *

What was her father up to? He'd never pulled this sort of scam before, to her knowledge, and knowing the experience from the inside, she was glad of it. Ruining the start of a couple's lives together for profit must surely be one of the most heinous things a human being could do. She couldn't even imagine doing it for her country, much less for money.

That her own father appeared to have become such a predator…

No wonder he'd stayed 'behind the scenes', letting Ellie take such a lead role in the arrangements. He didn't even have to pay her. He'd actually offered a discount for all of her unpaid help. That should have been a red flag, at least it would have been to the Sarah she used to be.

Used to be. She liked the sound of that.

Now was not the time. Hannah needed her matron of honor, but the matron of honor needed Ellie. Who wasn't here and wouldn't be. Sarah pasted a smile on her face as she took her position. The good thing about her father was, until the shoe dropped, everything would look one hundred percent.

All she had to do was not ruin the day herself, while she tried to keep the other shoe from dropping.

* * *

"Amazing. Absolutely incredible," said Mary, as they sat in Ellie's office.

"I know," said Ellie. "It takes some getting used to."

"How fast can he _type_?"

"As fast as his fingers can move. It's probably the skill set he uses most." Ellie shifted her monitor, so they could see the words as they scrolled up, too fast to read.

Mary pointed at one sentence. "Why is that one in bold?"

Ellie didn't look. The moving text gave her a headache too. "The Intersect is really Chuck's brain collating the data around his sensory input, what Dad calls the seed. In the old days he had to be there, in the danger zone, to get that input, but now we have the reports sent in with images. A sentence in bold indicates a flash that had no image to go on."

"Worthless?"

"No, just the opposite, if it makes a flash by itself. Manoosh keeps a stockpile of clip art and other images, so he matches up a set from keywords in Chuck's flash and feeds them into the stream. If Chuck gets a hit–"

* * *

Sarah's clutch started to buzz, with the hum of a low-level alert. She pressed the button through the thin fabric, unnoticed by all attending. It wasn't a Klingon-style wedding, the preferred style at Comic Cons everywhere nowadays, but it held the attention of those who'd gathered for _this_ couple. It was _their_ style, and that's what mattered.

Her team would have to do without her for now. She had her own mission to accomplish, for this part of the team.

* * *

"Let me guess, this happens?" said Mary over the alarms, pointing at the air.

"Not usually," said Ellie. "Manoosh, prepare the download!"

Mary's face went blank. "You can download Chuck's brain?"

"No," said Ellie, with a laugh. She held out a hand, palm up. "We have the upload, so the inverse signal is really an anti-upload." She held up her other hand, palm down. "It's just easier to say 'down' than 'anti-up' all the time."

The monitor chimed, and Ellie and Mary put on their professional faces as General Beckman's face appeared. "Doctor, Frost," she said, indicating the gravity of the situation. No one would ever call Mary 'Frost' for any other reason.

Another window opened. "John Casey reporting," said Casey, for the benefit of those who may have only had audio.

Another inset appeared. "Manoosh here." Ellie and Mary heard that in stereo, since he was not that far away. He drew the curtain that separated his area. They could still hear him, but this way they'd have no feedback issues.

Another window, blank but with a big red (and to Ellie's mind probably appropriate) 'X' drawn across it, indicating a privacy screen in operation. "Miller here."

"Very good," said the General. "I think we can safely assume that Sarah and Hannah will not be joining us at this time. Do we know what caused the alert?"

"Not yet, General, Chuck's still gathering his materials," said Ellie. She toggled her intercom. "Chuck, are you there?"

* * *

"Dad, what are you doing here?" said Sarah quietly, as she danced, for some odd reason, with the wedding coordinator. She'd done her duty, danced the first dance with the Best Man as tradition required. He'd lived up to the title, too, making no attempt to look down her dress or any of the other things she's known men in this situation to try to do. She'd had to pull him in closer, but she made sure he'd have an experience she wouldn't mind him sharing with the analyst's pool. She'd even enjoyed it, and didn't try to keep that fact a secret. He worked up the nerve to ask for another, and she was minded to give it to him, but she had something she needed to do first.

"I'm dancing with my daughter."

Sarah pressed hard with just a few fingers against her father's back, and he gasped, but neither of them stopped moving. "Your daughter is also a Federal Agent, a wife, and a best friend," she growled quietly, "And if you ruin _my_ best friend's wedding you will find out just how much I like being an officer of the law."

"Okay, sweetheart, take it easy," said Jack. "I told you, I'm just here to dance with my daughter, Mrs. Charles 'Schnook' Bartowski, at her wedding."

How sweet. "It's not my wedding."

"I pretend for a living," he said. "You didn't tell me you'd gotten married."

Using CIA resources to track him down would have been a few different kinds of illegal. "So how'd you find out?"

"The grapevine, or corn-vine, or whatever they have out in Oklahoma. I found out someone had taken down a 'colleague' of mine in LA, a real bad apple by name of Daphne Peralta."

Sarah raised a brow. "You're calling someone else a bad apple?"

"She specialized in bogus weddings." He frowned and waved a hand, indicating the venue they were dancing in. "The only thing 'stars in their eyes' meant to her was that they wouldn't see her hand in their pockets. I hoped she maybe tried that with you and the schnook, and got what she deserved."

Sarah imagined the possibility, and set it against the actuality. "Our wedding was…unscripted."

Jack snorted. "Now I wish I'd been there. Improv isn't really your thing. Anyway, the more I heard, the stranger it got. Daphne went down big time, evidence everywhere for scams going back years. But no go-bag. That just didn't add up for a predator as sharp as she was."

Okay so far. "So how'd you end up here?"

"I went to LA, and found out you'd skipped town. Found your name on one of the guest lists taken in evidence, but the happy couple had skipped town too. Not hard to figure out where. They were still looking around, and I had a congressman's son who owed me a favor."

Have to hunt that guy down later. "So what's your angle?"

Her father smiled. "No angle." He sent her into a spin, then pulled her in close. "This is your wedding present."

" _My_ present?"

"You said 'best friend', and so did she. I know all the cons…"

Light bulb. "So you kept her from being a sucker."

He nodded, looking around at his handiwork. "She'll get everything she asked for and a few extras besides. Maybe I'll send some photos to brighten Daphne's cell."

Sarah laughed. "If you could do all this on Hannah's budget, maybe you should go legit."

He smiled back, eyes crinkling fondly. "Not a chance. Too much like work."

* * *

A picture of a glass-and-steel skyscraper dominated the screen. "This is the–"

"First Bank of Macau," said Mary. "A front for the Guan-Yi Crime syndicate. It handles money for a variety of criminal organizations. The guards are really mercenaries."

"Exactly right," said Chuck. A second picture appeared, banks of servers. "Chinese military-grade computers, reported within the bank of Macau."

"By who?" asked Beckman. "We've lost agents trying to infiltrate."

"Unknown, General, but many of these computers have been reported stolen. Electrical use at the bank is way up, lots of thermals everywhere as they try to bleed off the heat, and I found some construction documents for shielding materials. With blood on them."

Beckman nodded. "Signs of a major operation, and it looks like it's about to go live, if it hasn't already. I'll forward this to Langley, but I need some best guesses right now."

"New money wouldn't require that much infrastructure. New accounts might, but there aren't that many criminals in the world to justify this expense," said Chuck.

" _Movement_ of money would."

"Mom?"

"I've been working with a businessman for two decades, Chuck. An economy isn't just money, it's money in motion. People buying and selling." She pointed at the screen. "Lots to keep track of, who contributed how much, to which account. _That_ is funding for terrorists, mercenaries. Arms, drugs, you name it. Criminal operations and money laundering on a global scale."

"A treasure-trove of useful intel, if we can get into it ourselves," said Casey.

"If we can't get in there in secret we may as well not bother," said Chuck. "They'll just close up shop. And the bad guys have to believe they _can_ keep us out, or they wouldn't go in. They'll be on the lookout for someone like me."

"Sounds like we need to get inside their perimeter."

"I heard the word 'mercenaries', if no one else did," said Carina.

Beckman nodded. "The incursion would have to appear legitimate. Chuck, would it be possible to create an account holder of our own?"

"Not unless we already _had_ an account holder of our own, General," said Chuck. "Bit of a Catch-22 there."

"You just find me an account holder, Chuckles," said Carina, "And I'll grab his assets faster than you can say 'cheap'–"

"Date," said Ellie.

"Booze," said Chuck.

"Scotch," said Casey, technically a duplicate. "Nuts."

"You're all wrong," said Carina. "It's 'trick'."

"Um…" said Mary.

"Whoops. Sorry, Mrs. B, did you want to play?"

Mary smiled, so nice to be wanted. "No, Agent Miller. I just wanted to say that this is one mission where all your skills won't help you at all."

"Is that a dare?" Hard to tell if she was angry or eager.

"No, Carina," said Chuck. "It's a statement of fact."

Now she was definitely more angry. "You're just taking her side 'cause she's your mother."

Mary shook her head, and held up a small acrylic card. "No, Carina, he's taking my side because …you're not my type."


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N** Much as I loved the scene during the bank robbery where they suddenly start talking about wedding plans, it always bothered me, since a trip from LA to Macau is 20 hours, and I couldn't believe that they'd talk about nothing wedding related all that time. But I liked the scene, so I figured out a way to keep it in the story, slightly modified so that there would be a legitimate reason for them to have it then instead of much earlier. I also added a driver and a getaway vehicle.

Equally silly was the idea that Vivian would add the tagging device to the system, with the door open and no one watching her. Frost, the known CIA officer, is better used as a magnet. 'Little tractor' is a reference to the tractor in the movie Tremors, which was used to distract the monster. More important, Vivian is here presented as the first villain to put one over on Chuck.

* * *

Ellie goggled at the strange creature that looked like her mother. "This place is like, like, Evil, Incorporated! And you have an account there?"

"Of course. Anywhere Alexei Volkoff could go, I had to be able to go, too. Having my own card was the only way they would let us in together, they're very strict."

Casey rumbled a laugh. "I can imagine. Their customers have their own ways of dealing with bounced checks."

"And the bank has ways of dealing with bounced customers," said Mary. "It's not just agents who sometimes don't come out."

"And you want to go in there?" asked Ellie. "They have to know you're CIA by now."

"They did then, I made no secret of it," said Mary with a shrug. "In some ways the criminal world is the more honest world."

"I guess it's a good thing the Powers That Be have been slow to reactivate you," said Beckman, testing out a cover story. "If you're on the run from us as well as Volkoff you'll need whatever funds are there."

"Oh, there aren't any," said Frost. "I just got the account to be a member."

"Yeah, but do they know that?" asked Casey.

"Probably," she said. "They have to know I've never accessed the account. I always went in with Alexei."

"I can give you a record of visits," said Chuck. "Easier than inserting a false user."

Mary shook her head. "They escort all their important clients personally."

"Great," said Casey with a grunt. "Then we're still SOL. May as well not have an account there at all."

Chuck's face went slack, and his eyelids fluttered.

"Chuck…?" asked his mother.

"Not to worry, Mom. He's flashing," said Ellie.

Eventually Chuck rejoined them. "Out of the mouths of Caseys…" he said.

"What'd I say?" Casey didn't mind provoking a flash but being compared to a babe was sort of annoying.

Chuck ignored him. "Mom, you said they were strict. How strict?"

"Failure to follow their rules is usually punished by death."

Chuck got wide-eyed. "So when you say 'strict, you mean, like, underlined, italicized, all-in-bold 'strict'." Then he put on his back-to-business face. "What are the procedures?"

"They have a DNA sample on file. Access is for card-holders only, no personal guards. Even as a cardholder, I had to get a special dispensation from the Chairman to go in with Alexei. They have the interior carefully rigged so cardholders never see each other. Even in the room you have a guard with you. When you finish, he signals a bank officer to escort you out."

"So cardholders never meet?" Not a question, a request for confirmation.

"Not on the vault level. It reduces the chance that someone will do something foolish, that might involve the bank."

"What about outside?"

"They don't care what we do to each other, as long as it doesn't draw attention to them. I've helped Alexei swallow lots of their smaller customers."

"So they only care if you act against the interests of the bank? Have you ever done that?"

"Obviously not, I'm still alive. Even Alexei couldn't have protected me."

Chuck's voice changed, becoming more melodramatic. "And he can't now, either. That's why you're trying to get back in the CIA, all those bad guys looking for revenge."

"Yes, and…?" Mary made a hand gesture, inviting him to be a little less goddamn cryptic.

"Your reinstatement's being held up due to your known association with the bank. You have to close it out. The bank will be happy too, since you'll be removing an association with the good guys. Everybody wins."

Mary made an _Aha!_ face. "And while I'm in there, I plant a black box that inserts a tracking code into their data stream. With a guard watching."

"We'll stage a diversion."

"What kind?" asked Carina.

"The kind that lets you keep your clothes on, Miller," growled Casey.

"The kind that makes a lot of noise," said Chuck, "And should pull all the guards to the source. We are going to rob a bank."

* * *

Elsewhere, at a reception hall…

Sarah took the microphone for her speech. "Hi. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Sarah. I am the matron of honor and Hannah's best friend, which I think is horribly unfair but I'm sure you all know what she'll do if I tell her she can do better than me."

"Don't put yourself down," said many people, from different parts of the room.

Sarah nodded. "So here I am. I want to start off by saying that every once in a while… two people meet, and you know it's meant to be. You know instantly that the stars have aligned, and their paths would bring them together regardless what the world may throw their way. But enough about them." She waved a casual hand at the main table, and Hannah laughed.

"Looking back over the years, and remembering when I first met Hannah, it truly amazes me that something that seems so minor, such a simple thing as an airplane falling out of the sky… could change my life forever. Hannah may tell you that I have saved her life, and she may even tell you how, if your clearance is high enough, but what she won't tell you is how she saved mine.

"And neither will I. I can't. She saved my life by inspiring me to claim my life, to live it, and that is what I do, each and every day, thanks to her." Sarah turned to Hannah.

"You are the best friend a girl could ever ask for. Since the day we met you have been there for me, and I will always be there for you. I don't know where I would be without my best friend–well, actually I do know, and it isn't pretty–but I also know that standing here today… on your wedding day … is exactly where I'm supposed to be. "

From her seat at the main table, Sarah's clutch emitted the much more annoying squeal of a second-stage alert. "But I guess not any more."

Everyone turned and watched as Hannah grabbed for the bag and made the appropriate responses to quiet the sound. Hannah tossed the clutch to its owner. "Go save the world for me, Sarah."

Sarah caught the bag, and said, "Deal." She handed the microphone to the person who was nearest, turned and walked away, to polite but confused applause.

The wedding planner opened the door for her. "I'll send you everything," her father promised as she passed. "The gods will dance tonight."

Sarah's smile lasted all the way out to valet station, the parking lot, and into her car and some privacy. "Did you inherit your father's bad-timing gene, Ellie?" she practically shouted into the phone. "I was in the middle of my speech, I hadn't even gotten to the groom's part yet–"

"Sarah, get back here now."

Sarah put her emotions back in the box. Ellie usually didn't try that 'bossy' stuff on her, and this wasn't supposed to be a mission day, so something must have gone sideways. Again. "What's going on?"

"Chuck's going to Macau, to rob the First Bank of Evil, Incorporated. You've got to do something."

Sarah snapped her car and herself into gear. "Oh, I'll do something, all right. I'll kick his ass if he thinks he's going without me. You tell him that. I'm on my way."

* * *

Later, in Moscow…

"The house will be ready by tomorrow night," said Riley.

"Yes, but will we be ready?" asked Vivian. She could wait, but it seemed like she'd been waiting a long time already. All her life.

"Your little hint may have been too subtle."

Vivian shook her head, absolutely confident. "Not for him."

* * *

Later still, in Macau…

Her escort was different, this time, unknown to all the staff, who were trained to notice such things. She walked into the bank as she had a hundred times before, but if her manner was a little less assured, a bit more harried and circumspect, well, they were equally trained _not_ to notice such things. The loud beeping that came from the metal detector as he entered after her was harder to ignore.

"Stop," said the guard.

He didn't stop, until Frost turned and held up a hand.

"Step through the scanner again," said the guard. He nodded politely to the cardholder. "We were unable to get an accurate count."

Frost flicked her fingers. The burly man grunted in disgust. "Seven," he said, taking a step backward.

"Thank you," said the guard to the woman, as his scanner completed its threat assessment and updated all the other stations.

By the time they reached the gate Mr. Chan was already there. He dismissed her bodyguard with barely a glance. "Ms. Frost."

Mary nodded at him. "Mr. Chan."

"What is your business here?"

"I've come to close my account." Casey handed the plastic card over, but this time Mr. Chan placed it in his own pocket after scanning it.

"A wise choice," he said. "Come with me. We will verify the contents of your box, and then you will leave here, never to return."

* * *

Outside, monitoring the progress...

"They let him keep his weapons?" asked Carina, as they geared up in the van.

"None of them are automatic, so the guards won't care," said Sarah. Plus, the most important one had already gone off.

Carina stopped to look at all the weapons they were draping about themselves. "I hate to tell you, Sarah, but none of these things are, either."

"Talk to the boss," said Sarah, dismissively, jerking a thumb over her shoulder as she checked the mechanism of her fourth backup.

Carina looked. "The boss, huh? You mean the guy with the stocking on his head?"

Sarah turned to look. Her husband did indeed have a stocking over his head. "Take that off, those are for later."

Chuck grabbed the material and started to pull. "I didn't know," he whined. "I thought you were getting all, you know, traditional."

"None for me, thanks," said Carina. "Hat hair and bedhead have nothing on stocking hair."

"And don't stretch them," snapped Sarah.

"Well, at least we know who wears the stockings in _your_ house," said Carina as Chuck stopped stretching them.

"She does," said Chuck, folding the delicate nylon. "I don't have the legs for it. So," he looked back and forth between them, "We're going with the new traditional, sunglasses and bad attitudes?"

"Take my word for it. Chuckles," said Carina, putting on her glasses, "No one's going to be looking at our attitudes."

* * *

In the vault area...

The door slid open, and Mr. Chan waved his unwelcome and soon-to-be-gone guest into the room. "You will open your box and take your possessions, we will certify it empty, and then, you will go." He walked up to the box and entered his half of the code key.

She followed somewhat more slowly, but not so much as to be obvious about it. "Then this won't take very long."

Just…long enough.

* * *

In the lobby...

The two women who walked in the door of the bank were tall, but the man behind them was taller. Not that anyone noticed. They passed through the metal detectors and the alarms went off. The soldiers gathered to ogle the pair of beauties, as they opened their leather dusters to reveal their bodies, clad in form-fitting leather. Carina had agreed to keep her clothes on, but that didn't mean she was hiding anything. There was supposedly a bit of psychology behind it, but since she'd been modeling the outfit as she talked, Chuck couldn't remember anything she'd said. He remembered Sarah hitting his head, though.

The tall man walked up behind his lovely outriders, put his hands on their shoulders…

And opened fire, his Intersect-driven reflexes making his hands and the tranq guns he held into automatic weapons that no scanner could detect.

The obvious guards fell first, paralyzed even though conscious, and that not for very long. The less obvious guards took a bit longer, as the tall man had to wait a bit for them to reveal themselves. The big guy in the corner was first, quick to draw, slow to aim, but he was by no means the last.

Eventually he ran out of darts, and the two women leapt forward as he dropped behind a desk to reload. The incoming guards opened fire, spraying great destruction around the lobby, none of it coming anywhere close to the intended targets.

* * *

In the vault...

Frost tapped at the pad, as if trying to remember a combination she rarely used. The lid to the box unsealed, and she lifted it. "What?"

The box was filled with bundled hundred-dollar bills. "Two million," said Mr. Chan. "Assuming the box is full and the notes are all the same." He looked at Frost's face, still slack with surprise. "You expected something else?"

"I expected the box to be empty," said Frost. "I never used it."

Mr. Chan reached out and pushed the lid higher. Taped on the inside of the lid was a card, and Mr. Chan opened it. He read it once and handed it to her. 'In case of emergency', it said, 'Love, Alexei.'

"A misplaced devotion," said Mr. Chan. "You will need a case." Had she been a normal cardholder, he'd have fetched it himself, but under the circumstances he decided to send a minion scurrying instead.

The guard behind her tensed, and Mr. Chan's eyes flicked up to meet his. "Go." He entered a code on the console and ran his card over the scanner. Behind them the red-lit door turned green, and the guard backed out.

"What?" asked Frost, as the door closed.

"A small matter," said Mr. Chan. "All doors are sealed for patron safety." Or against patron involvement, perhaps? "I believe you of all people know how to wait for events to play out?"

* * *

Back in the teller area...

The doors were sealed. The safe was sealed. The computers were in lockdown mode. Only the teller area had any loose cash available for plundering, and the tall man walked the counter as the tellers plundered their stations for him. "Let's go, let's go, let's _go!_ "

No one had gotten around to noticing the lack of wounds, blood, or any real damage that the guards hadn't wreaked themselves, and they were encouraged to keep on not noticing. Occasionally a shot would ring out, as the two women kept the patrons properly compliant.

"Wow, sweetie," said Chuck mildly. Sarah had become a bit of a potty-mouth all of a sudden. "What's gotten into you?"

"They made me miss the cake!"

Well, at least she was making it work for her. "The fiends." He pointed at a random person behind the counter. "You, keep packing."

"Don't laugh, Chuck," said Carina from across the room. "It looked like a great cake." She kicked the big guy in the leg, rather than move it gently out of her way.

"Not you, too."

"Hey, I missed the whole damn thing!"

The stopwatch on Chuck's phone went off. "On the ground, now," he barked at the tellers, and they all fell to their knees. He jumped off the counter, snatched up the bags full of paper, and turned to his comrades. "Grab one."

Sarah snagged a man, while Carina grabbed a young woman, and Chuck rolled his eyes. "Fine, one _each_." He fell in between his partners, shielded on both sides as one hostage went out the door first, and the other brought up the rear.

Outside the doors, a car squealed up to the curb as they reached the bottom of the steps. Carina and Sarah popped the doors and forced their hostages inside, while Chuck took the front seat, next to the driver.

"Where are the others?" asked Alex.

"They'll be along in a bit."

"You're just gonna leave my dad in there?"

"Oh, he'll be fine," Chuck assured her. He turned to look back at Carina. "You did wake him up?"

She lifted her leg, showing off the needle at the front of her shoe. "Antagonist delivered."

Chuck gave Alex the thumbs-up. "So how about you show off those fancy federal driving skills I've heard so much about, and get us to the dropoff."

* * *

Mr. Chan surveyed the chaos from above. Heads would roll for this disgrace, and his would be first among them, if revenge was not both brutal and swift. "How many dead?"

"None, sir," said his assistant. "They were all knocked out with some kind of darts." He held out several in his hands.

Chan growled deep in his throat, reminding Mary of her own concerns. "And my man?" she asked.

The underling hadn't been told that she was an Outsider now. "He is over there, one of the first hit."

"Take him and go, Frost," said Mr. Chan.

Mary nodded, and went to check on Casey, who was conscious and not liking it. "Up and at 'em, John, I don't pay you to nap."

Casey wobbled to his feet and took his position, watching her back as they headed out the door. Mr. Chan forgot her immediately, more concerned with bringing the systems back on line, and checking the security footage. Someone would pay for this.

* * *

"All right, out you come," said Sarah, pulling her guy after her as she exited the car. She let him go and hopped into the truck, throwing out some new outfits.

The man stared at the military-style vehicle waiting for the team, and placed himself in front of the second hostage, left behind by Carina. "Where are you taking us?"

"Nowhere," said Chuck, tossing the bags into the truck, and his greatcoat. "Take the car if you want, you're free to go." He pulled on some stained and wrinkled coveralls, with some industrial name.

Alex tossed the keys at the man, but they bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. "What kind of bank robbers are you?" he said.

"Who said we were bank robbers?" said Chuck. "We're agents of the United States Government."

" _Bloody Hell!"_ shouted the man.

The woman stopped cowering behind him. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"she shouted.

"Saved your lives," said Carina, unzipping her suit right there in the alley. "If we spotted you for MI-6, so did they."

Chuck stepped in front of her as Sarah climbed out of the truck, in a normal business outfit. "We had the same mission, and an inside man." He raised his phone, on speaker. "Talk to us, M. And be polite, we've got guests."

"I'm not M, I'm Q," said Manoosh, and the Brit spies rolled their eyes. "The worm looks like it was deployed in good order. They're bringing their systems back on line now, getting data. If all goes well we'll have their whole operation in under an hour."

"Thanks, Q," said Chuck. "Keep us posted." He smiled at the two 'guests'. "Game, set, match."

Carina stepped out from behind him, in the same leather outfit as before, only bright red. "Say that after we touch down, Agent Charles. It's time to blow this pineapple stand."

"Right." Chuck went to the driver's side of the truck, while everyone else got in the back, dropping the tarp. He waved at the 'hostages'. "Cheerio."

* * *

Outside the bank, Casey handed Mary an earpiece, and she lost no time plugging in. "Graboid, this is Little Tractor, come back."

"Little Tractor, this is Graboid, over."

Under his words she heard a truck rumbling along, that was comforting. "On our way to the rendezvous. Who thought up these stupid codenames?"

"It's completely appropriate! Dirtnap, a little support?"

Mary looked at the hulking Marine Colonel in surprise.

Casey looked apologetic. "He's not lying." He signaled, and their hired car pulled out from where it had been waiting.

"Fine," said spy mother to spy son. Casey got the door. "But you and I are going to have a little chat after the debrief. Little Tractor out."

* * *

Mr. Chan sat in his office, reviewing footage of the brazen attack while the security programs examined each and every aspect of their systems for intrusions. They found none so far, especially not the virus Casey had uploaded into the security system's metal scanner. That was the trickiest part of the operation, but Mr. Chan was already out of his office to confront his unwelcome visitor by the time that initial alert sounded. By the time he got back to his desk there was no trace it had ever happened. Manoosh had been a busy mouse, while this cat had been away.

Not until the systems tried to bring the ATMs online did an alert sound, and Chan immediately stopped to check the hazard. A crude little thing, embedded on the magnetic strip of a plastic card. He pulled up the recordings for that machine.

The girl again. He wondered which agency she worked for, but really it didn't matter. She'd tell them everything, downstairs. Where was she now? He tracked her through the attack, the perfect time for her to do some damage. She tried, but the redhead stopped her every time, with increasing violence as the woman foolishly provoked her. Chan snorted as the time for hostage-taking came, and the woman was dragged away with some other person, her operation blown. He wondered how she would explain it to her superiors, if and when she regained her freedom.

He backtracked the recording. The cameras over the teller area couldn't catch the man's face, he was too tall, but the hostages and the metal detectors forced his path as he left the building, and some of them had caught his face from various angles.

Mr. Chan felt the noose around his neck relax. A simple robbery, daring, but no more. The stolen money, a trifle. The loss of face was great, the loss of the female spy was greater. An example would have to be made, and now he knew who he would make it from.

"Carmichael!"

* * *

Mr. Riley looked out over his audience. "Attention!" he shouted, the words echoing. "Attention, all of you."

The milling sheep looked, as they were told.

When he was satisfied, Riley turned and gestured to the open doorway behind him, Mr. Carmichael taking up a matching position opposite him. A woman walked through the door and past her honor guard, the steady, measured tap of her shoes the only sound. The heels were high, her suit was black and expensive. Her face was cold and still, her eyes were hard. "Alexei Volkoff is no more," she said to them in her accented Russian. "My father is dead."

Everyone reacted, down below. Vivian looked for guilt, but there was none.

"As you all know, I am his heir," she declared, and they settled. She thought of Mr. Charles, and smiled. "You all work for _me_."


	61. Serpent's Tooth

**A/N** In which Chuck and Sarah spend an hour alone together, _not_ tearing each other's clothes off.

* * *

Mary Bartowski sat alone in the back of the plane. Up front, her son, his wife, his team, were all counting Chinese bills in various denominations, using Chuck's calculating abilities to estimate the haul from their latest venture. The money hadn't been the goal, or course, just a by-product of a glorified con job in the name of national security. She looked at her daughter-in-law, daughter of a con man, busily collating the bills in proper bundles, industrious but not happy. This one struck a little too close to home, perhaps.

Sarah and Carina had spent the first several hours of their multi-hour flight rehashing their friend's wedding at great length, tedious length to the boys, but hey, they were boys. Carina may have been a breaker at heart, but she had some frustrated dreams of her own, if her attention to Sarah's every word was any indication. Mary eavesdropped shamelessly, of course, and she gathered from Sarah's tone at the time that she didn't exactly approve of her father's lifestyle, even when the skills it required were used in her favor. Just as Sarah was using some of those same skills now, counting the take.

Mary thought about her own wedding, extremely normal. It was the marriage that had taken a few bizarre turns, and having heard about her children's own stories, she couldn't help but wonder if it was all their doing somehow. Even the so-called Mr. and Mrs. Awesome hadn't been awesome enough to craft a wedding that could withstand her family's little…trouble.

Poor Ellie. But it all worked out, in the end. Everyone got their perfect wedding, from the sound of it, even this Hannah person, and Sarah's father got to dance with his daughter, conning himself for a little while. Until the job called her away, as it usually did.

A proper mother-in-law ought to go over there and offer some support to a troubled family member, but Mary stayed in the back. She had two million of her own problems to worry about, and she worried about them, fingers drumming on the cheap plastic of the cheap case the bank had given her. Ill-gotten gains made by a lie, and given to the liar, not that she was solely responsible for what Hartley had become. Volkoff's devotion to her had its roots in Hartley's own…what? Did Hartley love her too, in some way? Was Volkoff's obsession with the Bartowski name a corrupted echo of his original self's interest?

Not something she wanted to think about right now, she'd been away from her husband for far too long. His interest was far more appealing to her, but he had yet to reveal it. Not that she'd given him much of a chance, pressed into a mission in Macau after less than a day out of the facility. The mission suited her, too, not alone, not in charge, little more than an asset. Much more relaxing than those empty days in the facility, except for her son's abominable taste in code names.

The last thing she heard was the sound of her own voice, speaking in her head. _I'm so tired._

* * *

Chuck heard the noise over the sound of the plane, over the sound of Carina and Casey celebrating their success, over the sound of Sarah shuffling, bundling, and banding the stacks of bills like some kind of machine. His mother snored.

He stood up and walked down to that end of the plane, snagging a blanket from an overhead compartment. As he fluffed it out, Sarah came up and embraced him from behind. "She looks so peaceful," she said.

"Yup," said Chuck.

"Should I move the case?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to chance it. Doc said she needed to relax, so, let her relax." He drew the blanket over his mother's sleeping form and stepped back.

Together they turned and watched their friends' antics, Casey pretending to light a cigar with a hundred yuan note, all of about sixteen dollars worth. Chuck wasn't about to make the fact more obvious than he already had. "You think they'll miss us?" he whispered in his wife's ear.

"Let them," she whispered back.

* * *

About an hour later, Casey made his way aft, having lost the coin toss. He'd expected Miller to jump at the opportunity, but she was strangely reluctant to mess with the happy couple's face time. The doors on these planes were pretty flimsy, so he tried to tone it down a bit, knocking firmly rather than pounding on it as he usually did. "Rise and shine, Bartow –oh, crap." Too hard. He slapped a hand over his eyes as the door opened.

"What's up, Casey?" asked Chuck in a casual tone.

Casey risked a peek at a very small part of the room. Bartowski male was sitting at the end of the bed, fully dressed. A pair of feminine feet were by his thighs, facing the wrong way. Tracing them down, he found the wife. Bartowski female also sat on the bed, but at the other end, her legs intertwined with her husband's but otherwise not touching. They each had computers on their laps, and they were tapping away quietly, with only occasional strokes of their bare feet against their partner's legs. Intimate without being in any way graphic, it caught the NSA man off guard. "Um…"

"We're Federal agents, Casey," said Sarah with a smile in her voice, "Not dire wolves in heat." She looked up at Chuck in concern. "That _is_ what they're called, right? Dire wolves?"

Chuck just stared, his report forgotten. "You are just so sexy right now…"

"Put a lid on it, Bartowski," snapped Casey, now that they were back on familiar ground. "The General wants a briefing in fifteen, so get ready."

Chuck's fingers moved at machine gun speed. "I'm done," he said.

"You cheated!" yelled Sarah.

"I did not, I just…creatively accomplished, that's all."

"Oh yeah?" said Sarah. "Let's see how much you 'creatively accomplish' from the couch tonight."

"You're right," said Chuck instantly. "I cheated, I apologize, and throw myself upon the mercy of the court."

"Let me guess," said Casey, wincing in advance. "You're 'creatively merciful'?"

She got an odd smile on her face. "Merciful, yes, but I leave the creativity to…"

"Oh, God," groaned Casey, and he slammed the door, too late to save his ears.

* * *

"Good morning, team," said the General, without the facial expression one normally associates with that greeting. "Congratulations on a successful operation."

Everyone on Team B looked at everyone _else_ on Team B. "Uh, thank you, General," said Chuck. "But how did you–?"

"My British counterpart also extends his congratulations," said the General right over him. "Especially considering the speed with which _our_ operation was laid on, as opposed to the many months his team spent laying the groundwork for theirs."

Casey summarized his team's collective remorse. "Oops."

"Not a sentiment I cared to express, Colonel Casey, with the President on the line."

"And how are their two agents, General?" asked Chuck. "The ones we extracted from the site."

"You have their gratitude."

"Well, that's something, right?"

"It is, Mr. Bartowski, but only because Manoosh was able to provide evidence that their operation had been detected and would have been blown, had it continued much beyond your interruption. As a result, they have decided to let the matter drop, in exchange for the cash you took away with you, to cover their expenses."

"Fine."

"I'm so glad you approve." She didn't look glad. "However, that wasn't the purpose of their call, just a less-than-pleasant sidebar." Her voice became more brisk. "Analysis of the methods used to extract Hartley Winterbottom from the hands of SIS indicates that Vivian's team used ordnance manufactured by Volkoff Industries to do it. Those munitions could only have been supplied by Vivian herself."

"We knew she would be taking over, General," said Casey, who added grudgingly, "And the weapons used were non-lethal."

"Yes, we did," said Beckman. "Although we had hoped her control would lead the company in a more legitimate direction. That isn't the troubling part, however. Lacking both Hannah and Chuck, I put Manoosh and Ellie onto the task of evaluating our previous theories regarding Alexei Volkoff's actions, in light of Vivian's possible involvement."

Carina remembered Boris, flying backward in a spray of gore as Vivian shot him point-blank with a shotgun. No doubt she would act if she felt threatened. "Damian?"

"Very good, Agent Miller. There was no legitimate reason why Alexei would bomb a CIA base, just to kill Sarah. Agent Frost's testimony reveals a pattern of similar actions. In light of this, Langley has issued a termination order on Vivian Volkoff."

"What?" said Chuck.

" _Langley_ is entirely too quick with their damn termination orders, if you ask me," said Casey. "Re-analysis isn't evidence. We don't even know why Vivian would want to kill Sarah."

"I do," said Sarah, squeezing Chuck's hand.

"That's as may be, Colonel, but non-domestic threats are their playground, not ours." Not that a little detail like that ever stopped anyone.

"Then we make it ours. Bring her in-country, then we take her down legally. At the very least let her make her case."

No, he wasn't going to give this up. Not after the last time. "How do you propose we do that, Colonel?"

"We have your theory, General. If it's right, then we have what she wants." Casey spread his arms, indicating Chuck and Sarah. "We let them get the evidence we need."

"You want us to be bait, Casey?" asked Chuck.

"It's either that or a bullet, Bartowski."

Just like killing her himself. "Well, gee, when you put it that way, how can we refuse?"

"We can't," said Sarah. "Why do you think he put it that way?"

Casey clapped Chuck comradely on the shoulder. "Worry about her, don't worry about you. She gets frisky, I'll take her down regardless."

* * *

Mary slept the whole way to DC, and Chuck was beginning to worry, but she seemed to wake up easily enough when they touched down for the last time. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Mom?" he asked as they left the plane at long last. Still dark. Was it last night, or tomorrow morning?

No matter. It was broad daylight in Vivian's part of the world, and they had lots to do before any of them would be allowed to sleep. Termination orders are always easier to start than they were to stop. Better to just move the target, who would want some control over where they were moving to. A possibly fatal hesitation that they had to sidestep. Hopefully she still had enough faith in Chuck to step with them.

Frost had seen enough of that dance. Twenty years. Business meetings. Strategy sessions. Endless little chores, messes to clean up. "No," she said. "I have a husband to track down, so you'll excuse me while I start tracking." She tilted her head up into air, smelling the breeze. "This way."

Chuck and Sarah watched her go. Or rather, Chuck watched her go, while Sarah watched her man. "This way?" she said. "You're letting your traumatized mother walk away from her family with 'this way' as her flight plan?"

"What do you mean?" said Chuck. "The car rental agency _is_ that way."

* * *

Chuck looked around. Dust, hills, and dirt roads, a terrible choice in almost every respect, from the visiting team's perspective, yet the visiting team had chosen it. A wide-open field of fire for snipers no one would be able to see. Casey was ecstatic. The favorability of the conditions for his team spoke volumes about Vivian's inexperience.

A cloud of dust rose over a ridge, early warning for the vehicle that came into view as the road curled around the little hill. Vivian preferred her protectors in large numbers, and a little closer to hand.

Chuck and Sarah stood in front of their own much smaller car, as a horde of men in black emerged from the SUV, taking positions around a woman in gold. Sarah took a more forward position as she always did, her hand on her gun but her gun behind her back, the only concession she was prepared to make to the 'peaceful' nature of the meeting.

Vivian walked within speaking distance. "Agent Charles," she said, her voice dripping with scorn. She ignored Sarah completely.

"You know that's not who I am," said Chuck.

"If I was going by what I _knew_ about you, Agent Charles, I wouldn't be here at all. You wanted to meet me, here in the middle of nowhere, and here I am. What do you want?"

"To save your life," said Chuck. "The CIA has a kill order on you, for your role in the bombing of one of our bases, the murders of two agents and conspiracy to kill a third."

Vivian gasped, her façade of angry power apparently shattered. "I've done no such thing. I've only been in charge for a few days."

Sarah knew better. "An order from you would have been obeyed."

Vivian finally looked at Sarah. "I gave no orders! I'll give you every piece of documentation I have, every letter, every note for the last three months. I've nothing to deserve this. Please, you've got to believe me."

"Why?" asked Sarah. "You set me up to be killed by a group of freaks."

"I didn't," said Vivian. "Father created the mission. I merely said that killing Gilles, however worthy, was a waste of your abilities, that you could do as easily for a dozen what you were supposed to do for one. I was _admiring_ you."

Blaming it on daddy, when he wasn't here to defend himself. "And all the threats later?"

"You were unstable, dangerous."

That bit of honesty got through. Try as she might, Sarah couldn't really fault Vivian for urging that a mad dog be put down, even when the mad dog was herself. _Especially_ when the mad dog was herself. She thought about the thing she had been then and trembled inside.

"Wait a minute," said Chuck. "How many months of documentation did you say you have?"

For a second, Vivian just stood there, getting her thoughts back on track. "Three months. A bit more, maybe, I don't recall the exact day I arrived in Moscow."

"Who cares?" asked Sarah. "That sort of thing wouldn't be written down."

"No, but Castle was blown up closer to four months ago," said Chuck.

"I was in England four months ago," said Vivian. "An ignorant girl on a horse. After what happened, what _almost_ happened, I decided to educate myself." _Wherever I wanted to go, whatever I wanted to be._

"Bang-up job," said Chuck, deadpan.

Vivian's face firmed, hardened into a mask. "As a guest in your beautiful country, I brought a gift, as is customary, to thank you for your hospitality. Instead, it appears I'll have to use it now to bargain for my life. So be it." She snapped her fingers, and a lackey brought a white Volkoff case to the front, and Vivian stepped forward and opened it herself.

Chuck looked at the contents, which appeared to be a grip, and the frame for some kind of gun, but without any of the usual gun parts. "What is it?"

"A piece of a weapon called the Norseman, one of my father's deadliest weapons, and that's all I can tell you about it. Without Hydra, I have no other information, but without Hydra I'm quite busy enough with my legitimate enterprises, thank you. I'm fully prepared to hand this puzzle over to you." She took a step back.

A shot rang out, and the bearer of the case fell, suddenly headless. Vivian froze, in the sudden awareness of the nearness of her own death. Her bodyguards moved, as other shots rang out, and she heard their grunts of pain as they took the bullets aimed at her. "You set me up! You bastard!"

Sarah moved too, pushing Chuck back behind their vehicle, even though no shots were aimed at them. "No, no no no," he yelled over the noise. "Casey, what's going on?"

"It's not us, it's not us," said the voice in his ear, furious that someone was trespassing in his kill zone. "We can't spot the shooter."

Vivian wasn't on their system. "I trusted you!" she screamed through the broken window, and the SUV she came in reversed at high speed, bumping slightly, horribly, over the bodies of her own fallen men as the live ones did their jobs.

* * *

"Did you find the shooter, Colonel?" asked Beckman, hours after the fiasco had been thoroughly investigated, recorded, and buried.

"After a fashion," said Casey unhappily. "We found his blind first, and from there we could pick up his trail, some sort of deer run. He'd bugged out long since. Probably there all night with his vehicle under cover, otherwise we would have spotted it."

"So he got away?"

Casey shook his head. "Didn't say that. We found the vehicle and the driver in a ravine. So, probably not CIA."

"Gee, thanks, Casey," said Chuck.

"Don't mention it. We can bring the wreck in for analysis, but I doubt it'll tell us anything. This is a classic cutout situation, ma'am."

"We'll investigate with all due diligence, Colonel, but that's not your concern any longer. This Norseman device is. What, if anything, do we know about it?"

"Nothing, General," said Chuck. "There's nothing about it in the Intersect."

"That's not helpful, Chuck," said Beckman. "If you want me to push for a recall of the kill order, you have to give me something to do it with."

"General, what about the timing?" asked Sarah. "Vivian says she wasn't anywhere near Moscow when Castle was bombed. MI-5 should be able to verify her claim."

"An appeal to the British authorities is hardly likely to be met with swift action, Sarah." More likely the opposite.

"Then make that work for us," said Chuck. "If we can't get the order rescinded, we can at least get it put on hold, pending their action, and while they're doing that–"

Generals need to be patient with their enemies. With their subordinates, not so much. "Yes? While they're doing that, what?"

"While they're doing that, we go to the only source we have, for intel about the Norseman."

Beckman frowned at him. "You assured me that Alexei Volkoff no longer existed."

"I'm not talking about Volkoff, General," said Chuck. "We need to get into Hydra."


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N** Featuring the return of the Janitors - Babyface, Showtunes, and Lilywhite - who think that 'Winterbottom' is a strange name. I don't know why, but I like Showtunes the best.

* * *

The briefing, continued…

"How do you plan to do that, Bartowski?" asked Casey. "The Brits have been trying for weeks now to crack that damned machine."

"Not true, Casey," said Chuck. "They've been trying to crack _Hartley_. They haven't even tried to get past the HMI yet."

"Same thing, isn't it, Chuckles?"

"Only if you believe that Volkoff's voiceprint is the only way to get into Hydra, which the British apparently do."

"And you don't?"

"Let's just say I'm keeping an open mind."

"That's just how I–" Carina froze. "Nope. Not gonna say it."

"Let's just say you're planning to keep your team properly briefed every step of the way," growled Casey right over her muttered background noise.

"I'm sure he's planning to, Colonel, " said Beckman, "But as it turns out, _I_ have the most recent update."

Commanders bringing briefing materials to the table is never a good thing. Junior officers knew it, but somehow when they became commanders themselves, they seemed to forget. "Ma'am?"

* * *

Somewhere not in America (and no, I'm not going to tell you where)…

Riley met Vivian at the airport. "What's the latest? she asked.

"The attack went well," said Riley, gesturing an underling to take her bag. "Federal agents have been crawling over the incident site for hours. They found Gustav."

Damn. He was her most reliable shooter. "So soon?"

Riley snorted in contempt. "He was so concerned about escaping the Americans that he drove his stolen car off a cliff." The fool.

"Remind me to release his payout to his widow." Vivian may have liked Gustav and respected his abilities, but she wasn't about to put herself in his crosshairs without something to shield herself, in this case, a hefty sum of money that only she could unlock.

"Yes, Miss Volkoff."

"What about our objective?"

"One hundred percent successful, Miss Volkoff," said Riley. "In all the hullabaloo, he never even noticed the tracker go in. You've belled that cat."

"Only for a little while, Mr. Riley," said Vivian, striding briskly from the terminal. "We might evade his grasp once, perhaps twice, but Agent Charles will know that for what it is."

"I think you overestimate him, Vivian," said Riley. "He fell right into your last trap. The Special Forces of the world are spread thin, rounding up those who might have taken your rightful place."

That last little flourish may have a been a bit much. Vivian rounded on her chief retainer. "I think you are overestimating _me_ , Mr. Riley," she snapped. "I did not 'trap' Agent Charles, I found a place where our interests aligned. Now that he's taken care of our enemies, he's the threat. When I do trap him he will know it, and he'll be on guard thereafter, so even if I succeed I'll only be able to do it once." She stepped back, and reduced her vehemence. "Hydra is the brain and Hartley is the heart of Volkoff Industries. If I do not take those two steps flawlessly and well, Mr. Riley, there will not be a third, I can promise you that. Now, where is my father?"

Riley, for once, had nothing to say.

"Well?"

* * *

Back at the briefing…

"What do you mean Hartley's coming here?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, Mr. Bartowski," said the General archly, making Chuck feel like he was, oh, about eight. "The story for public consumption–" 'public' being in this case those few people who weren't on the team, but still had high enough clearance to know about it on either side of The Pond "–will be a standard matter of separating the key from the lock, a plausible story after he was captured last week."

"Not a good week to be them," said Casey, with his characteristic tact.

"They couldn't have sent the Contessa instead?" asked Chuck.

Beckman leaned in close, hands clasped, and gave Chuck her full attention. This was not a good thing. "Mister Agent Bartowski, you are aware that, by blowing up the home of a peaceful country housewife, you have done damage to our relationship with our strongest ally that will take years to repair?"

He stared at his hands. "Yes, General."

"You are also aware that, because you cratered a long-laid operation with a more successful plan which you basically wrote on a sheet of toilet paper, the British Government has essentially PNGed you and your entire team for the remainder of this millennium?"

He bowed his head. "Yes, ma'am."

"Yet you seem to think that they would just casually hand over one of their most sensitive installations, a site we had to give them control over because of your team's actions, giving us the opportunity to interrogate the world's most advanced computer for data on what could be the world's most dangerous weapon, created by the world's greatest criminal mastermind."

Chuck cleared his throat. "Um…"

"Is that about right?"

"No? General?"

"How not?"

"It's not like I was going to tell them about the Norseman."

"I should hope not." Beckman sounded relieved. "Speaking of no good deed going unpunished, the story for private consumption is that he is being transferred into the custody of a team with a demonstrably higher success rate at operations of the same type."

"Bet _that_ stung," said Carina.

Beckman was used to ignoring Carina's snarky attitude. "The story for _internal_ consumption–"

"There's a third consumption?" asked Chuck.

"There is now," said Beckman, wishing not for the first time that Hannah was here, "That story is that Hartley has become deranged, unstable, and when this whole operation goes to hell they want it in our hands and not theirs."

 _Something_ we _did_? "How…unstable?" asked Chuck. He remembered Hartley's mother, that 'peaceful country housewife', and wondered what 'deranged' could mean with such a parent.

Beckman pushed a button on her desk, and a new window opened up. "See for yourself, Mr. Bartowski." The secure wing at the CIA's main psychiatric facility had a new guest, manacled, chained, and currently being wheeled in. Even Juan looked a bit taken aback by the unusual precautions, and he received all the new cases.

Beckman's voice spoke over the video. "Langley is putting its kill order on hold for five days, Chuck. You have that long to verify that the device is everything Vivian said it was, and bring it back to Washington. For that time, Hartley is your asset, and your responsibility. Good luck."

* * *

Chuck was disappointed. Hartley Winterbottom was not the least bit unstable. Considering what he'd gone through, the world he found himself in, Hartley was doing a fine job adjusting to it all. Leo Dreyfus seemed to agree. The chains were all gone. Ellie, Casey and Carina were watching from the observation room, but only he, Chuck, and Sarah were participating in the interview.

"Thirty years?" Hartley asked, staring at himself in the one-way mirror on the wall. For some reason they hadn't let him have a look at himself in England.

Chuck looked at him curiously. "In total."

Hartley touched his face, his hair. "What does that mean?" He looked at Sarah.

She tried to find words for him. "It means…that the first upload was thirty years ago, but the Volkoff persona was only truly dominant for the last twenty. Or so."

He found no comfort in them, and turned. "Then why can't I remember anything? Those ten years, I should have something!"

"We don't know, Hartley," said Dr. Dreyfus. "The team at MI-5 reported you had some memories, before…"

"Before that woman kidnapped me," finished Hartley.

Dreyfus checked his notes. "Vivian."

"Yes. Vivian MacArthur, daughter of Jane MacArthur, such a beauty she was." For a second Hartley found refuge in memory, but he was back among them all too soon. "She told me she never knew her mother, that poor Jane had met a man who took what he wanted." Hartley shrank into his chair, his hands clenched in his hair. "Sometimes I dream of her, brushing my hair from my face. I hear her voice. She calls me 'Father', and 'Vivian' is a Winterbottom family name. Am I him? Was he me?" He looked up at them all, helpless anguish on his face. " _Am I that man?_ "

Chuck remembered how he'd been told he'd won a bar fight he couldn't remember, and still didn't. Hartley was fine. It was the situation that was deranged.

"No, Hartley," said Leo firmly. "You are not that man."

Chuck was ever-so-thankful for Dreyfus' slow, calm, unruffled demeanor. He had a gravitas to him that could anchor a ward full of patients.

"You are a good man, caught up in a bad situation, brought about by a technology that we still don't adequately understand. Chuck here has had similar experiences, but he was not that man either."

Chuck smiled and tried to look sane.

"You and I will have to speak a great deal together about the Intersect and what it's done to you," said Dreyfus. "Chuck's current concerns are a little more immediate. We don't expect you to be able to answer his question, but we would be failing in our duty if we didn't ask."

"Go ahead," sighed Hartley. "Ask your question." Had to be better than what we was thinking about right now.

"We've received a piece of a weapon from a Volkoff armory," said Chuck, leaving Vivian's name out of it. "It's called the Norseman, and it's supposed to be highly potent, but we have no data on it, no idea what it does."

"The Norseman?" said Hartley, raising his head. He sounded confused, and Chuck's hopes dropped. "That's not a weapon, that's a DNA tracker."

Chuck's hopes rose again. "It's a what?"

"A DNA tracker. They were going to collect the DNA of all the world's black marketeers."

"And do what with it?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ask?"

"They didn't know either. They were presenting to the committee the same day we were, but they needed some ideas for possible uses of their technology. I made that up on the spot, while we were chatting in the hall. I figured anyone who'd fall for something like a Star Wars missile defense shield would fall for that."

Sarah imagined Casey's reaction, on the other side of the window, and couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice entirely. "You what?"

Hartley looked a bit sheepish. "Remember, it was the 80s, all you needed were a few words and a pretty picture." He shook his head. "I wonder how it went for them."

'Not well', thought Chuck, but he wasn't going to say that to Hartley. _They met a man who took what he wanted._ "I don't suppose you'd recognize any of it?" he asked, without much hope.

Hartley shrugged. "I might. They showed me the picture."

* * *

"Vivian's claims have been verified, General," said Chuck a few hours later, in the lab. "Hartley recognized the piece she gave us, and from the comments he made, we were able to track the original development documents. The Norseman was originally just a DNA tracker, a sensor device, but the developers never finished the work, and their funding wasn't renewed, that's why it never showed up."

"Do you know what happened to the developers?"

Chuck shook his head. "I expect Volkoff happened to them, one way or another."

"Dead, or new identities in Russia," said Casey. "I vote for dead."

Beckman wrote them off, a problem for some other decade. "And the device?" No way she would say 'Norseman' aloud if she didn't have to.

"Hartley remembered two other components, and the design specs support him." Chuck put the 'pretty pictures' up on the screen. "Casey's analysis of the physical design indicates numerous possibilities for weaponization, as does my analysis of the underlying software, if slight modifications were made."

"I would imagine those 'slight modifications' have been made long since," said Beckman. "Do we know what it does now?"

Carina raised her hand. "Kills people?"

"I'll take that as a 'no'," said Beckman. "What's your next step?"

"England, ma'am."

* * *

Not England…

They attacked in the dark of night, four figures clad in the latest stealth suits, who nonetheless crept towards the designated entrance as if the approach were in broad daylight with hundreds gathered. Two watched the outer approaches and a third checked the interior, as the fourth electronically overrode the locks. When the doors opened, the outer two became the inner two, securing the interior before the others would put themselves at risk. Not that there was much risk on the graveyard shift.

Guards returned from their scheduled walkabouts to find their partners unconscious or otherwise secured, and swiftly joined them. Visual feeds were looped onto themselves, showing only the same empty hall they'd already seen. With the chances of immediate discovery reduced below threshold, the team moved to phase two, securing their objective.

* * *

England…

The Contessa rode lightly at anchor, bereft of crew and cargo, only a guard contingent on board, and a light one at that. With Hartley out of the country the threat level of this site was reduced, the manpower assigned to it cut accordingly.

Four heads rose from the water around the ship. All of them carried their own launchers for their own grapples. "Let's hope this works, Bartowski," said Casey. "These are Royal Marines, not thugs on a boat."

Chuck unzipped his sleeve, peeling the material back to uncover his father's old wrist computer. "Everybody ready?" He pressed a key on the pad, sending a signal to his old laptop, already wired into the ship's systems. On the far side of the ship, a sensor went off, attracting the attention of all the guards on that side, and pulling the guards on this side off-station to cover the gap.

Four grapples fired as one, and retracting cables lifted the team smoothly to the main deck. They wasted no time arming themselves, not against the military of an allied nation. Instead they relied on stealth and speed, already knowing where they were going. On the far side of the ship, sensors tripped in sequence, as a virtual assault team clumsily approached the same goal, and the real guards gave chase.

Outside the Hydra room itself, Chuck dispatched Casey and Carina to make some trouble while he was busy and couldn't make it himself. With the guards on the outer door drawn off, he unlocked it remotely, and he and Sarah ran in even as the door opened.

* * *

The other incursion, still not in England…

At the inner door they repeated their formation as the electronics man picked the lock, a much more intensive process than at the outer door. Once past that obstacle, only a third door remained, with a simple mechanical lock, and the hacker yielded his place to the thief. Once the door opened they slipped into the room without a sound. The occupant was disabled without an alarm being raised, but still the man by the door signaled for utter stillness, and got it.

Outside the room, someone walked past, whistling, and they listened as the sound trailed away to the far door.

At last the leader clenched his fist, and two of his fellows raised the man they'd just tranqed to their shoulders. Time to go. The leader opened the door and stepped out.

Something hit him in the face, and his foot slipped on the slick floor. His head hit the floor with a crack and he was done.

The thief, right behind his leader, tried to back away, but the two carrying the unconscious man pushed forward. The attacker lunged, catching the thief in the solar plexus, stopping his breathing.

The attacker stepped over the dying thief without pause, snapping his staff in two. Burdened with the unconscious man, the last two interlopers were no match more the attacker's lightning fast strikes and dodges. By the time it occurred to them to drop their burden they were barely able to move. The attacker grabbed the unconscious man as he fell. With his other hand he hooked the end of his stick around one operative's neck and pulled him down onto the other operative. With only one stick but his targets down, the attacker finished them off with ease.

* * *

On board the Contessa…

Sarah stayed by the door, stethoscope in hand. Chuck went to Hydra. "Agent Bartowski zero-zero-two."

"Hibernation mode terminated," said the HMI. "Please identify yourself for access."

Chuck leaned close to the speaker, but he looked at Sarah the entire time. "This looks like a job for the Piranha," he said with great melodramatic gusto.

Sarah smiled, shaking her head. What a nerd she'd married.

"Welcome, Agent Piranha. Thank you for saving the civilized world from the forces of darkness. Access granted. Have a nice day."

Chuck touched the screen, marveling once again at the holograms. If it hadn't been for the whole 'rule-the-world' obsession, Volkoff could have made billions of perfectly legal dollars just with this. What a waste.

His fingers flew through the menus, literally flying through the screens to get to the one he wanted. "Voice identification required."

He plugged in his mother's electronic lockpick, the correct sequence already entered. Burgling was so much easier when you already had the key. "'Death is the solution to all problems.'"

Alarms blared. Chuck stared at Hydra in confusion. _I didn't do it._ _It's not my fault._

Sarah was more responsive. "Casey, what happened?"

"It was me, it was me," said Carina. "Had to zag instead of zig."

Sarah heard sounds through the stethoscope, and went to the inner room. "We've got company."

"I'll draw 'em off you," said Casey.

"We have to go," said Sarah, and Chuck nodded. She went back to the door as he restored the room.

When all was as it had been, he went to join her at the door. "Clear?"

She nodded. "Casey may not like Russians but he can sure swear like one."

Chuck lifted his arm and activated the 'Run Away, Run Away' program, designed to simulate a confused incursion team fleeing in panic. He followed this with the 'Bugout' code, and zipped his sleeve to protect the computer.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the other, other incursion…

The attacker listened, but no one came to aid these four. He secured the live ones with quick-ties before gently lifting their target and putting him back into his bed, tucking him up nicely. One of the operatives was stirring, but the attacker kicked him in the head and he stopped.

"Not on my watch," said Showtunes. He pulled out his radio. "Babyface, this is Showtunes. Babyface, please respond."

The radio made a noise. "Go for Babyface."

"I need a pickup, B," said Showtunes. "Garbage and laundry."

"Hit or snatch?" asked Babyface with mild curiosity.

"Snatch. Some guy named Winterbottom."

"Weird name," said Babyface. "I'll send the baby-maker, and alert Ladyfeelings."

Showtunes grimaced. All those kids, and Lilywhite would make him look at all his photos again. Colonel Casey, on the other hand, hadn't been the Janitor called Ladyfeelings for a while, although he stayed close. Once a Janitor, always a Janitor. "This guy has a tag?"

"Since he came in. Ladyfeelings brought us in the loop. Load the bins. Babyface out."

Two by two Showtunes dragged the operatives down the hall and into the chutes–the garbage chute for some and the laundry chute for the others–annoyed because he'd just mopped this floor and now he had to do it again.

* * *

The group reformed under a pier, far from the brightly-lit ship and its agitated contingent. No way anyone was getting back into _that_ hornet's nest.

"Tell me you got it," said Casey.

Chuck unzipped his sleeve, and activated a communications protocol. "Dad, did we get it?"

"We got it, son," said Orion.

"We got it," said Chuck.

"Yeah, we got that," said Carina. "Can we go now?"

"Closing the barn door, Dad," said Chuck into the microphone.

"They're sweeping the woods, son." The usual ports were being monitored. Not the most likely outcome but clearly someone in the British chain of command was a bit paranoid today. "I'm sending you new coordinates."

"What's there?" If the Brits were checking the land ports, maybe they could use a submarine right now.

"I got you a chopper."


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N** For no reason I know, I just decided to jump-start Carina's character growth in this chapter. Ditto the inclusion of a Barker relative. Canasta is a game I used to play, long ago, and I needed an alternative to Uno. This is also one of the first references to Game Night in this story.

* * *

Outside the American Embassy in Paris…

"There she is." Even over this distance Carina heard the words, yet another sign from a grateful universe that someone else was busy noticing her.

Naturally she noticed them back, three huge Americans standing in a Paris street, rather than safely obscure in their car. "This is tradecraft?" she asked as she approached.

"No," said Casey, popping his door open. "This is three tall people taking any excuse they can get to spend a few minutes not in some tiny car. Only the French would name a car 'The Lemon'."

"We needed a paper trail, Casey," said Chuck, once the doors were closed and they were safely obscure once again, "It's not like a Crown Vic could get through most of these streets anyway."

"Is that why you left those score sheets in the hotel room in London?" Casey really looked forward to Game Night. Chuck had a sheaf of score sheets a couple of inches thick.

"Mm, sort of." The sheets were genuine enough, just not recent. They would also give whoever found them something else to consider.

"You kept the record of my stellar victory, didn't you, Chuckles?" muttered Carina dangerously.

"Oh, that's right, you had one, didn't you," said Sarah dangerously back.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Your legacy is safe. Did you get what you went in for?"

Carina opened her bag and pulled out a sealed box. "Gotten." She handed it back while Casey drove them back to the airport they'd just left.

Chuck split the seal and opened the box. "Okay," he said mainly for Casey's benefit. The big guy couldn't look around and hated to feel left out. "We've got two pairs of sunglasses, a card–" he handed the card to Sarah "–and a note. "Good luck, son. The first location is on the card, just remember to use the glasses in the right order', and thanks for that vote of confidence, Dad."

"So where are we going?" Carina asked Sarah.

Sarah flipped the card over. "Mogadishu."

* * *

The sitting room of Vivian's suite, as much of a throne room as she had at the moment…

"What do you mean, they vanished?" said Vivian harshly. She stayed seated, not through any force of will but simple shock and surprise. Her entire future, the future of Volkoff Industries, rode on the success of these operations. Highly trained mercenaries don't just vanish, not if they wanted to get paid.

"Exactly that, Miss Volkoff," said Riley, knowing when to first-name the boss and when not to. "The team was sent in, they penetrated the outer defense and simply never reappeared."

"Captured?" Interrogated? Not that interrogation would be needed if they were found in her–in _Hartley's_ very room. She really wanted to pace right now but Father warned her to never show weakness in front of subordinates.

"They had to have been," said Riley grumpily. He hated having to play guessing games like this. "I just don't see how. They should have been more than enough to outwit a bunch of rent-a-cops and a janitor, for God's sake."

"I don't suppose 'escaped' is a possibility," said Vivian.

"I doubt it," said Riley unsympathetically. " _Escaped_ armed intruders would have caused more of a fuss. On the other hand, I haven't seen the normal follow-up I'd expect if they were captured, either. It's like they were just…swallowed."

Like her father had been swallowed. Without a trace. "And Agent Charles?" _Please_ let there not be another one like him.

Riley had checked before he came in. Of course she'd ask. "Still out of the country. Last known position was in France, but they were in England just yesterday." He sat down, opened his case, and held up a photo of a ship. "Curiously, there was also a bit of excitement on the Contessa last night."

The lighting was excellent. "Throwing him a party, were they?"

Riley affected to scrutinize the photo again, but he'd read the reports. "With the bright lights, maybe, but the men with dogs don't seem like party favors to me." He flipped it back around. "This is what a detected incursion should look like." Comforting, in a way.

Vivian shook her head. "It wasn't him."

"How do you know?" said Riley, tossing the picture on the desk. "He needs the Hydra as much as you do."

"Because the intruders were _detected_ , Mr. Riley," said Vivian, as if that explained everything.

"A probe, then, or a feint, sending in some other group?"

Vivian shrugged. "I suppose it could be," she said. "He is a treacherous bastard." His treachery was the most undetectable thing about him. "We need to get to Hydra without delay."

The directive took Riley by surprise. "Why? We need your Father first."

"If Hartley Winterbottom can be made to channel my father at all, then he can be brought back at any time, Mr. Riley. While I had hoped to control him myself I don't really have to. When my father is restored, even in part, whoever has him will use him to open Hydra. We need to be prepared to take advantage when and if that happens."

"Right," said Riley. "Set up an autocopy, export a backup. That's brilliant!"

She filed the idea away for later. "That may be, Mr. Riley, but it's not my plan. The last thing my father did before he was struck down, was to set up a transmission to a backup location. Once Hydra comes on line that transmission will begin. We need to secure that site."

"So why the incursion?"

"Once the data has been retrieved, we need to prevent anyone else from accessing it. Hydra has to be destroyed."

* * *

In the office of the poor sod investigating the Contessa matter…

"Sir? I think I may have something."

The deputy-deputy didn't look up. "If you do you'll win a prize."

Not a response the agent had ever gotten before. "Sir?"

"Sorry, agent. Been a long day." From very early running on very late, with bugger all to show for it. "Report."

"I was reviewing all the cancelled flight plans for this morning, sir, when my computer shut down on me, some kind of automatic update."

"I hate those."

"Yes, sir. When my system came up again, I noticed that the number of records seemed to be different, sir, so I compared it with a hardcopy I had, for notetaking purposes."

"Ha! A paperless office, indeed."

"Yes, sir. I determined that shortly after the so-called incursion, a new flight plan was laid on, but to the west. Bristol."

"Bristol Airport? That's in Somerset, isn't it?"

"I believe so, sir."

"Point of origin?"

"A private strip outside of London, sir. Supposedly on behalf of the Yard."

"Supposedly?" Good word, that.

"They have no record of the flight, the officers for whom it was arranged, or the operation in which they were taking part."

"Which were?"

"A…Detective Parsons and a Sergeant Vickers, liaising with two American operatives on a drug-related matter."

"Americans? Not likely. Where's this pilot now?"

"Deadheading it back, sir."

"Good. Question him when he arrives, see if you can track these alleged officers here in London. I'll have a team in Bristol try to track these people from there. Excellent work, Agent. What's your name, I'll put it in my report."

"It's…Barker, sir."

* * *

Somewhere in Mogadishu...

Casey looked out the hole in the wall at the sound of gunfire. The night was dark, broken only here and there by fires burning, more for light and destruction than for warmth. This part of Africa was near the ocean and pretty close to the equator, but not especially humid for all that. The desert was coming but the people had no place to go. "Are we sure this pirate guy still has the component?"

"Reasonably," said Chuck, pulling a shirt on over his body armor. "Elyas Abshir is addicted to gambling, but he's also overly proud of his collection of trophies. I don't think he'll let something he took from Volkoff go lightly."

"Remember that when you try to take it from him, you know he's gonna try to pull a fast one."

"That's why I'm going in with him, Casey," said Carina, dressed to kill, if necessary. "No one's faster than me, although I didn't mean that quite like it sounded."

"We know how you meant it," snarked Sarah. "You know I should be going in with you?" she asked her husband.

Chuck shook his head, brushing a finger across her lips. "I don't want the world-famous spy team of Bartowski and Bartowski to ever get mistaken for 'that lovely couple playing with their two kids in the park.'"

She grabbed his collar and kissed him firmly. "You promised me twenty."

"With that many you'll have your own baseball team," said Carina. She smiled until they turned and stared at her. "Crap, you're serious."

"Yes, I'm serious," said Sarah, "So you'd better take good care of my husband."

Carina raised three fingers.

"You were never a scout," said Casey.

"Read between the lines," said Carina sweetly, and dropped the outer two fingers.

* * *

Somewhere else in Mogadishu...

"Twenty?" said Carina when they were a good distance away. "How'd you talk her into that?"

"You've got it backward," said Chuck. "She's the one who pushed for it."

"Now I've really got to hear the story."

"She'd kill me." Or Casey would.

"Oh, come _on_ , Chuck," she said with a pout. "You know if you don't tell me I'm just gonna have to pester you, and you know how much I hate to do that." She clasped his arm. "Let's make a deal. If I win in there, you have to tell me."

"What do I get if I win?"

"You'll be allowed to tell me. See, it's fair."

"Carina, you've won one whole game after how many at-bats?"

She smirked in triumph, and pulled his arm, dragging him toward Abshir's compound. "That was before I had incentive."

* * *

Getting into the compound wasn't at all difficult, just push open the door and step over the last guy who tried to leave. "I'm looking for Elyas Abshir," said Chuck loudly.

A tall, thin man pushed his way to the front. "I am Abshir."

Chuck made a signal, and Carina kicked the man until he was down. "No, you're not," said Chuck to the unconscious lout. "Abshir is a pirate, a thief, a braggart, and a bully. He'd never come out just because someone told him to."

A laughing man pushed his way to the front. "Very good, my tall friend. You win the first game. I am Abshir."

"And I…am here to acquire the Norseman tracking device that you took from Alexei Volkoff."

Suddenly lots of men pointed guns at them, and Abshir wasn't smiling anymore. "Volkoff is dead," he said. "That makes the tracker priceless."

Chuck shook his head. "That makes it available."

Abshir looked over Chuck's shoulder at his woman, an insult. "Who is the violent woman? I might have a use for her."

"She's my bodyguard. Heard you had a decent buffet and decided to tag along." Chuck lowered his voice. "You might want to be careful how you talk about her. I want the tracker, not a bloodbath."

Abshir sneered at him. "A bloodbath?"

"She was in Thailand recently." Technically true. Chuck could work with that. "You ever been to Thailand, Elyas?"

The legends had come to him, larger with every retelling. " _I_ heard that was a blonde."

"And _she's_ heard of hair dye," said Chuck. "Name. Your. Terms."

Abshir circled Chuck like a shark. "Pick a game. Dice, roulette, cards. If you win, the tracker is yours. You lose, you die."

"Now that you mention it, we do have a favorite game," said Chuck. He turned to Carina. "Don't we?"

* * *

Somewhere in England…

The deputy-deputy slammed the few scraps of paper that had so far made it to the surface onto his desk. " _Canasta?_ You're telling me America's top agent and three friends sat here under our bloody noses for nine hours and played canasta?"

"It could have been any Rummy variant, sir, but canasta seemed the most likely–"

"Shut it!" said the boss. "Do we have anything, anything at all, connecting this team to what happened on the Contessa?"

Nobody was willing to say 'No' directly, but heads shook all around.

"Fine," he said, but everyone knew it wasn't fine. "Keep at it. Someone send me Barker."

* * *

Back in Mogadishu, many hands later...

"Out," said Carina. Again.

"Woman, you are _on fire_ tonight," said Chuck. He started counting up. Although this hand had clinched the game for her, he still had to beat Abshir to claim his trophy.

"I told you, it's the incentive."

Abshir threw down his cards, conceding the victory. Making a stink about it would only make the event more memorable. Besides, the game wasn't over yet. He eyed the redhead appreciatively. "I can imagine your incentive, " he said to Chuck, "But what is hers?"

Chuck surged up, tipping over the table, knocking his host and the box he sat on to the ground. Before Abshir could move a knife pierced his sleeve, trapping his gun hand, and Chuck had a knee on Abshir's chest and a fist raised. "You have the manners of a goat. Now apologize to the lady and give me my prize."

Elyas lay there, confused. The man was insane! Now he had to die, nothing else would do. Why would anyone risk so much over a woman? "Uh, okay?" He looked at Carina. "Sorry?"

Carina flicked her fingers– _Whatever–_ and Chuck let him up.

"As for your prize…" said the pirate, walking over to a large tent. He pulled aside the flap, blinding his guests with a golden glow from all the bright lights and shiny objects. "You have one minute to find it and come out."

* * *

The light was blinding, the objects all the same shape and size. Chuck got out his sunglasses.

* * *

"Your employer is a good card player," said Elyas, as Carina took up a watchful position by the flap.

"And you're a good cheater," she said. "Or you would be if I'd let you get away with it."

"No matter." Elyas signaled, and several armed men came to the front. "Soon he will be dead," he said, pointing his pistol at Carina, "And I will put you to a better use."

Someone shot the gun from his hand, and all eyes turned toward the gate. Casey stood there, a pistol in each hand and a machine gun slung around his neck. "Give it up boys," he said calmly. "I'm just the one you can see."

Someone moved, and someone who wasn't Casey shot him.

A strong arm wrapped around Elyas' throat and a hard object pressed against his back. "You die first, no matter what," said Chuck, and Elyas gestured his men to stand down. Chuck pulled his host around to 'escort' them to the door. Casey and Carina went through first, and then Chuck stopped just inside. He pushed Abshir away and closed the door behind him as he stepped back.

A firm hand grabbed Chuck by the collar, as Casey steered him around to chase after Carina. "We have to get under cover now!"

"No we don't," said Chuck.

Casey wasn't having any. "Move it, Bartowski!" Machine-gun fire broke out behind them, and he pushed even harder. Only once they were in the shadows on the other side of the street did he relent, turning to check their six.

No one was there. "What?"

"Elyas Abshir was beaten, shamed, wounded, and disarmed in front of a crowd of armed men, Casey," said Chuck. "He's a bleeding shark in a feeding frenzy. Believe me, he's got bigger fish to fry than us."

"You got it, though, right?" asked Sarah over the comm.

Chuck stuck out his hand, revealing the 'muzzle' he'd stuck in Abshir's back was nothing of the sort. "Right where I expected it to be, just outside the hidden rear flap of the tent."

Carina grabbed Chuck by the collar and pulled him in for a long, hard, and thorough kiss.

"Great job, Chuck," said Sarah. "Chuck? Chuck? Casey, what happened to Chuck?"

Casey turned to look at the train wreck. "Um…"

"Carina?" said Sarah in an edged voice. "What's that noise?"

Carina broke the kiss, and pushed Chuck away. "Thank you for defending my honor in there," she said with tears in her eyes. "I've never felt like I had any honor worth defending before."

"Someone needs a hug…"

"Chuck!" snapped Sarah right in his ear.

"I didn't say from me," said Chuck, stepping back quickly. "But sweetie, if you really do want to kill something, I happened to leave my watch in Abshir's trophy tent. I'm sure there's a Navy ship somewhere around here that wouldn't mind a target."

Something animalistic came over the comm. with the word 'Beckman' in it.

"Okay, everybody, move out, and let's try to keep it professional." Casey cocked a grin at the sounds of mayhem. "Thank you, Mogadishu, and good night!"


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N** In the original posting of this chapter I called it Twenty Questions. Each section either begins or ends with a question that defined the section.

The conversation between Sarah and Carina in the cabin was modeled on a story called, if memory serves, "The Crystal Palace", by Phyllis Eisenstein. It features a woman whose soul is hidden inside a fortress of ice, until a blundering fool comes along.

* * *

Casey examined the two components, sliding them together. "So where are we going, Bartowski?" he asked, as the pieces clicked into place. "A fueled jet, a midnight flight." He set the assembly on the table with a thump. "You're playing things a little too close to the vest for my liking."

Chuck settled into the chair opposite, to enjoy a well-earned glass of soda. "You know what they say about playing things close to the vest, Casey?" He raised a brow at Casey's bafflement. "Wear a coat over the vest, otherwise you look like a jerk."

"Is that right?"

"I'd look like a cold, frozen jerk, actually, since we're going to a military bunker in the Swiss Alps." Chuck picked up the TV remote.

Casey looked a shade more cheerful. Must have been the word 'military'. "I thought we just left that party."

"Same mountains, different country. Too bad Dad didn't send us this location first, but I can see where he couldn't."

Casey nudged the assembled pieces, basically a grip and a scope. "Let me guess, the bullets."

Chuck glanced at the parts, but didn't try to touch them. "Well, whatever that thing uses for bullets, but yeah. Not something Volkoff left right on top." He jerked upright in his chair. "Hey, Avatar!"

Bullets for the world's deadliest weapon, and he's going on about crappy movie retreads. "You're being awfully 'cool' about this, Bartowski. Wanna clue me in?"

Right. Mission. Chuck turned off the TV, and put down the remote. "Doesn't it seem odd to you that a man like Volkoff would have a weapon like this, and split it up? Never use it?"

"Mmm." Apparently not. "You think it's not the superweapon Vivian told us it was?"

"Or that if Volkoff was afraid to use it, there's a pretty good reason."

"Not cheering me up here, Bartowski. Not everybody's smart enough to be scared when they oughtta be."

Chuck looked aft, at the closed bedroom door his wife and her best friend had been hiding behind, the entire flight. "Some people are."

* * *

"How do you stand it?" asked Carina. Her voice trembled as much as her hands, and Sarah felt both, sitting hand-in-hand and knee-to-knee on the room's only piece of furniture, a bed that could be made to serve as a sofa.

She'd been prepared to tear strips off of Carina for the clearly-audible kiss, but her friend's terror was genuine, and not Chuck-related. She'd been high as a kite when she kissed Chuck, an elation Sarah knew all too well. After the high had come a quick low, an emotional rollercoaster that Sarah also recognized. "I don't know," she said. "I don't know what you're feeling, no one can except you."

"I don't even know," said Carina. "I've never felt like this."

Sarah stared down at their joined hands. "Like all your life your soul was in a box, in a castle of ice, and one day some idiot blundering fool melts the castle and breaks open the box."

Ice. _So cold._ "Yes! Yes. What do I do?"

"I'll tell you what you don't do," said Sarah. "You don't try to shove your soul back in that box. You don't try to act as if anything you knew yesterday means anything today. I tried all of that, it doesn't work. Just hold on to that fool for all you're worth. I did that, too. The one thing I did right."

"No," said Carina definitively. Sarah did everything right.

"Lie down," said Sarah, and Carina obeyed without protest. Sarah tucked her up, snagging her cell phone in the process.

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," Sarah said, stroking Carina's red hair. "No one should have to discover their soul all at once. I had Graham and Beckman, pushing on the box, keeping it from letting all of me out. Not sure if that was better. Looking at you now I think maybe it was."

"Looking at you then I'd rather be me now," said Carina, teeth chattering. "You went through hell."

Going through Hell was the only thing they were allowed to do together. "You have to, to get to Heaven."

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this, ma'am?" asked Mr. Carmichael, driving his mistress to the meet.

"I've never been surer of anything in my life, Mr. Carmichael," said Vivian. "No one can be allowed to have my father's legacy except me, his designated heir."

"But, destroying the ship–?"

She sighed. "Not my first choice, but whatever bungling strike team tried to take Hydra from me earlier has made any less-drastic solution impossible. They'll be on guard, now. The internal sensor net will be changed. I have no other choice."

"But, Ma'am, won't your father be on the ship when it sinks?"

Vivian almost smiled. It was too funny. Agent Charles' doppelganger, pleading for mercy for that _thing_ walking around in her father's body. For a second she thought of Hartley, his gentle compassion as he held her hand. _I'm so sorry for your loss,_ or words to that effect _._

Her loss. What did he know of her loss? He _was_ her loss, not some woman she never knew. Angrily, she took that image, that memory, and shoved it into an airless chamber at the bottom of her soul. "An unfortunate accident," she said. The irony pleased her. Alexei Volkoff's body and the creature inside it, destroyed by her father's own munitions.

"Yes, ma'am," said Mr. Carmichael obediently, keeping his unhappiness to himself. Not for the first time, he considered a return to Macau, where he knew what was what, and who was who.

* * *

He had only to hear Sarah's voice over Carina's phone to know that something was wrong. "What happened to her?"

Sarah smiled, pleased that he was so quick on the uptake. "You did, Mr. Davis," she said quietly, the boys asleep in their chairs in the main cabin. "My question to you is, what are you going to do about it?"

* * *

"How may I help you?"

Specialist Blakely hated his job. He didn't used to. He was never exactly thrilled with it, but being in the military kept him out of trouble, and getting into trouble was the only thing he was better at than cracking into sophisticated electronic security systems and tinkering with whatever was behind them. People take that kind of thing personally.

Needless to say, the government was thrilled they had someone with his talents on hand when a prize like the Contessa dropped into their laps. This rig had some crackerjack security. It barely even noticed he was there, just enough to reroute the signal and go back to sleep. He felt like a hotel guest, waiting for service while the manager and all his staff were watching their favorite show on the telly. He'd ring the bell and they'd move it, to still the noise.

Until last night. Something was different, he wasn't exactly sure how, but he was able to follow the rabbit back into its hole. He managed to wake up the HMI, but he didn't tell anybody. Not officially, that is. He appreciated a pat on the back and a 'well done' as much as the next man, but he liked cash better.

He had a few new tools with him today, and a fat bonus waiting, if only he could get this stupid machine to stop trying to help! "You can tell me who programmed you." Not too many people in the world could have done this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Did you say 'who cabined blue'?"

"Was it the Jackal then? The Octopus?" Nigel doubted it. Not their style at all, too harmless. There was a man who would do this, but he was a joker, not a thief. He'd never done a job like this before. "The Piranha, maybe?"

His screen blipped. Not much but when the line has been stubbornly flat all day a little bump can be huge. "The Piranha?" he asked again. Blip. "Bloody hell," he said to himself. "This is a Piranha job."

Blip blip. Nigel smiled. "Oh, I've got you now, darlin'."

* * *

"Everybody set, then?"

The other men in the boat nodded, not much for chatter, a quality the leader appreciated as much as he liked their diving and munitions skills.

"It's a long way with no cover," muttered one. "Still wish we could use a DPD."

"They make noise, Thomkins," said the leader shortly. "No one wants that ship dead except the lady what hired us, so all we need to do is not draw attention to ourselves–"

"And plant the mines," said another guy, as a helpful reminder.

"And not get blown up," said a fourth, with a grin.

The leader poked Thomkins in the chest. "See what you started? Next time you want something, you can go get it while we do the job and keep all the money, eh? Right lads, let's hop to, and we'll all be down at the pub in an hour."

They all fitted their mouthpieces and fell backwards with a splash.

* * *

Julian Barker raised a hand for silence, all the way down there in the dark and cold at the bottom of the ship. "Did you hear that?"

The able seaman escorting him sniffed. "Y'hear a lot of things down here," he said. "It's a ship, y'know? Even at anchor the sea still moves."

"I'm aware that this is a ship," said Barker, faintly nauseated by the rolling motion of the vessel, or perhaps by the smell of oil down here belowdecks.

"Probably just your mate down the other end," said the sailor, accepting that the SIS guy had heard something at all. "That nutter in the cold room, shouting at the machines." His eyes lit up. "Or maybe a bottle of rum from some pirate's chest, rolling about."

"Perhaps a note, some shipwrecked unfortunate, hoping for rescue," said Barker, getting into it. He flashed his torch around the machine room, seeing no one and nothing, just as there ought to be. A waste of time, like he'd thought, but after two days without incident, Command was just as eager to draw down their forces here as he was to be drawn down. Let someone else be the boss' right hand. He'd gladly do a final check as long as it was a _final_ check.

"Here," said the sailor, shining his own torch elsewhere. "Whassat?"

* * *

Diane Beckman closed her eyes. "Were there any casualties?" That was the hardest part of this job, lives lost protecting a rook, especially when it was just a pawn in disguise.

"Three," said the Minister on the other end of the call. "An SIS man and his escort, and…a computer tech, in the room with the Hydra itself."

Above her pay grade. If anything was a cue to change the subject, that was. "Do you know what happened?"

He breathed a sigh of relief at her discretion. "Some sort of scuttling charge, I would imagine. Now that S&R is over, the divers will be looking into the cause. We'll keep you informed."

* * *

Vivian wanted to scream, but that would be even more a sign of weakness than pacing. "What went wrong?"

"We don't know," said Riley. "The ship sank as planned, but there is no data in the backup location. Hydra is lost."

"Leaving me with nothing."

"Well, not _nothing_ , Miss Volkoff. You have your fortune, and there is still the Norseman."

"The Norseman was a red herring, meant to keep Agent Charles out of our way while we went after the real prize."

"It may be a prize on its own, and it's certainly the only color of herring you've got."

Vivian never thought she'd say this. "Where's Agent Charles now?"

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right Swiss bunker?" asked Casey, looking at the hole in the mountain through his binoculars. "I don't see anything like a trap or an ambush, nothing that screams 'Volkoff' about it."

"He _does_ have a style," said Chuck. "Did have a style."

"His mind was twisted," said Sarah. "Your mother said so, and I have to agree with her."

"I wish we hadn't lost Miller," said Casey. A very tired and bedraggled Officer Davis had appeared on the tarmac at the airport, and Carina had walked away from the team and into his embrace without a word. When last seen they were still attached to each other.

"Carina should be halfway to Dreyfus by now," said Sarah, assuming Beckman did as she said, usually a safe assumption.

"Good for her," said Casey. "Can't divide the team now."

Chuck shrugged. "Don't want to. This place has no human guards anyway, and no one else knows we're here."

Sarah winced. "Chuck…"

"What?"

Casey smacked him in the head, and Sarah didn't object. "Way to live dangerously, Bartowski."

* * *

"Would you like to play a game?" said the computer, as Chuck took the seat before the chess board.

Casey watched the sequence of moves, faster than he liked to play himself. "I hope you know what you're doing, Bartowski."

"I just hope you're ready," said Chuck.

"I was born ready."

Sarah winced. "Casey…"

"What?"

"Sarah, I'm kind of busy here, could you whack him upside the head for me, please?" Chuck didn't look up, but he heard the 'Ow!'. "Thank you."

* * *

Sarah watched her husband take back his bad move, heard his sudden whimper. "What's the matter, Chuck?"

"I'm losing it!" He looked up at his wife, up at the big guns with all those bullets. Overkill, really. Typical Volkoff. "I can't play like him, no one can."

"Why not?" said Casey with a shrug.

"He's the world's biggest badass, Casey!"

"He's a computer program," said Casey. "And you're a computer. Inside that noggin of yours is Hydra, the life's work of the world's greatest criminal mastermind. His goals, his plans." Because Alexei Volkoff didn't have hopes and dreams like normal people. " _Be_ him."

"Be him?"

"Yes, be the man whose name strikes fear into the heart of friend and foe alike," said Sarah. "Who is that man? Who are you?"

"Alexei Volkoff," said Chuck.

"Say it again, and sell it this time," said Sarah. " _Now_ , Chuck."

Chuck flashed. "I…am…Alexei Volkoff," he said, his voice sinking into a growl. A happy growl. "Killer of men, conqueror of nations!"

"Uh, I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves here," said Sarah.

"Yeah, Chuck," said Casey, "Just play the game already."

Six brilliantly aggressive and treacherous moves later…

"Ha!" yelled Chuck triumphantly. "Checkmate."

Casey slapped a pair of sunglasses over his face. "Good game, Alexei. _Do Svedanya_." He looked at Sarah as she moved in to support her husband. "See? I told you I was ready."

* * *

Inside the clear acrylic box stood a component not very different from the one they'd taken from the Somali pirate just hours before.

"Is that what all the fuss is about?"

Chuck scanned the room, the doorway. "Yup."

"Well, let's go get it," said Casey.

"The room would kill us. It's like everything Stanley Fitzroy ever made, rolled into one, and keyed to Volkoff's DNA."

"So how do we get past it?" said Sarah in a voice of complete faith.

"You don't," said a voice behind them, as guns cocked menacingly. "I do."

* * *

Chuck turned, hands raised. "Vivian MacArthur?"

"Vivian Volkoff," she snapped back. "My father's heir. A Queen without a country, thanks to you."

"This was a setup?" said Casey as his gun was taken away from him yet again.

"Of course not," said Vivian as she watched her men secure the area. "Agent Charles would have seen through that immediately. This was supposed to be a wild goose chase like Macau, something to keep you busy while I secured my father's legacy."

"No wonder the data had no picture. You sent it."

Vivian smirked at him. "You diminished my enemies very effectively, Agent Charles. Bravo. You also locked off Hydra, kept it from me, and the Contessa was scuttled. My father's life's work, lost forever."

"That wasn't _my_ plan," said Chuck.

"It was your mother's," said Sarah sheepishly. "She said she'd end things even if she had to scuttle the ship to do it. She never had a chance to remove the charges…"

Chuck closed his eyes. "Good plan, mom."

"Fitting," said Vivian. "The mother of the man who destroyed my father, destroyed me. But all is not lost." She pointed into the room. "The Norseman is the most dangerous weapon in the world. Once I have that, I can take someone else's country as my own. Up against the wall." Once they were out of her way she sauntered past, took a swab and placed it in her mouth before inserting it into the slot.

"The room is keyed to your DNA too?"

"Of course," said Vivian. "What I couldn't do was outplay that chess computer out there, so–" she dusted her hands off lightly "–thanks for that. In."

Inside the room they could only watch as Vivian opened the box and removed the component. "It's useless without the rest," said Sarah.

"I have the plans for those," said Vivian absently as she lifted the device. "What I don't have is this." She turned away from them all and headed for the exit.

"Vivian, don't do this," said Chuck as her minions placed charges around the room. "You're not this person."

"I know, but it's the only person I've got left," said Vivian. "You don't know me. You will never know me."

Chuck knew enough. Without another word he lashed out and disarmed his minion, by the simple tactic of making him unconscious. Sarah and Casey followed suit, but Vivian ran away faster than they could fight their way through. The door lit with a lattice of laser beams, too closely spaced to allow anyone out, except in pieces. "You've taken still more from me, Agent Charles. Never again. Those plasma grenades are impossible to defuse."

"Vivian, please," Chuck yelled after her as she left them to die.

"Chuck, forget her!" yelled Sarah.

"She hates me," said Chuck.

"Head in the game, Bartowski!"

"We've got ten seconds."

Chuck transformed with a shiver. No more head-banging, no more self-recriminations. He reached inside his vest, and brought out three knives. With Intersect accuracy he threw the knives and pierced one of the cylinders on three of the plasma grenades. He ran to Casey's position, taking the knife from his hand and slicing away the section of wall behind the last grenade with four quick strokes. He grabbed the section before it could fall and threw it out into the hall between the lasers. "Up against the wall!"

The grenade exploded, a column of intense heat flaring into the room, melting the laser emitters, incinerating the pedestal and acrylic box. The three humans were safe against the wall, protected by the rock of the cave.

"Chuck," said Sarah once the chaos ended. "What did you do? How did you know that would work?" She looked the broken grenades, the knives rotting away under the caustic chemicals.

"I didn't," said Chuck, coughing from the fumes. "Vivian may have turned evil, but she's a terrible liar. She said they were impossible to defuse, so I broke them instead."

"Great job, genius," said Casey, staring at the melted section of floor, the glowing walls of the tunnel. "Meanwhile she's getting away at a nice slow stroll. How long do you think it'll be before we can get out of here?"

Chuck turned to glare at his partner. "Perhaps you'd like that explosive back in our cell, your highness."

* * *

"What do you need from Hartley, Chuck?" asked Dreyfus.

"Vivian's got the Norseman. We need to know if he's aware of anything we can do to stop it."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Chuck," said Dreyfus, his voice final. "It wouldn't help in any case. He's been quite traumatized by his experience as Volkoff, even more so by his daughter. His mind refuses to revisit those memories. I'm sorry."

* * *

Back at the lab, a few days later…

"Do you really think this will help, Chuck?" asked Sarah, sitting at Ellie's desk while Ellie ran the upload from the booth. "You nearly lost it the last time."

"You _told_ me to lose it the last time, Sarah," said Chuck, locked in the Intersect room again. "I think without the machine guns pointed at us I can keep the upload in check."

"Don't be so sure of that, little brother," said Ellie. "The upload you got from the glasses was a small dataset, the best we could do at the time. This will be much bigger."

"Great, sis, thanks for telling me now."

"Upload commencing."

* * *

When the alert went off, everyone responded in record time, except for Carina, on therapeutic leave. "What do you have to report, Mr. Bartowski?" asked the General.

It was like Old Home Week in the Intersect lab, all the faces gathered on the big monitor, with Beckman dominating the screen as always. "The Hydra files had a great deal more information on the Norseman, General, but the technical files on the killing component have been redacted."

"So we're still in the dark?"

"No, ma'am," said Chuck. "The technical data is gone, but the functional documents are still in the Omega folder."

Casey asked the obvious question on his General's behalf. "What's that, Bartowski?"

"It's a file of weapons that Alexei Volkoff considered too dangerous to use but too useful to be destroyed, Casey."

"A weapon of last resort," said Sarah.

"Literally, Sarah," said Chuck. "The footnote on the disposition order says 'it destroys the user' in Volkoff's own handwriting."

"How effective is it, Bartowski?"

"One hundred percent, in the lab." Certain death for someone, and they all knew who her first target would be.

"So killing you would kill her?"

"Vivian's a vengeful psychopath, General. I don't think the blowback would stop her, even if she knew about it."

"Don't worry, Chuck," said Sarah. "I will."


	65. Hell's Fury

A few days later…

"Morgan, buddy, can you take a picture for us?"

"Sure thing, Chuck." The manager put down his collection of menus and took the phone, envious as usual that his best friend had the best toys. He centered the screen on General Beckman's red hair, as everyone else in her party gathered around her. "What's the occasion?"

Chuck waited until he'd taken the standard three photos of the same pose before answering. He wasn't sure exactly what to say. They'd never met Julian Barker, but they'd kept in touch with Cole and shared his anxiety over his nephew. Now that said nephew was out of hospital and freshly commended for his actions aboard the sinking Contessa, friends on both sides of The Pond were celebrating. "Somebody lived," said Chuck finally, reclaiming his phone.

"That's great," said Morgan, knowing he'd never hear more than that, but he took what he could get, just like all his friends. "I hope all you guys can make it to Alex' graduation party."

"Uh…" said Casey, straightening. Alex Coburn officially died in 1989. No one had told his ex-fiancee Kathleen about his continued existence under another name.

"Don't worry, big guy," said Morgan, aware of that little wrinkle. "We're having two, spies and straights. No press at the spy one."

Casey nodded. He didn't get many chances to see his daughter openly anymore. She was graduating with three commendations and a citation of merit, two of which she'd earned before she even started the course, and the FBI knew a good promotional opportunity when it saw one. Alex was rapidly becoming the face of the agency for a new generation, and the press hovered. "Absolutely."

* * *

A few days after that…

The grounds were still, the house unoccupied. A window slid up easily, the alarms disabled. A figure clad all in black slipped through the space and walked calmly across the floor, confident that he was alone. He walked past chests, ignored the electronics, checked no drawers.

In the main bedroom he flipped the covers down, and checked the pillows with a light. With a pair of tweezers he lifted a strand of hair from the pillow and coiled it around a swab, stowing the whole thing into a sealed plastic bag before going on his way.

* * *

"How does it work?" asked Vivian. Days of seclusion, of frantic preparation. In spite of the blast, she had no illusions that all of her enemies were destroyed, or indeed, that any of them had been. Her father's notes always mentioned an Agent X, the man who would destroy him. She assumed he meant that metaphorically. There had to be one someday, and for him it been Agent Charles. For her, who could say, but with the Norseman in hand she could make her killer pay a high price before the end.

"I'm afraid the physics is beyond me," said the weaponeer hesitantly. "From the look of it, these two components are virtually identical, but where the tracker merely locates a target, the killing component emits a signal that, um, clogs the inner workings of the victim's cells so that they can no longer function."

"What are the outward signs?" asked Riley, always concerned with evidence, and how to conceal it.

"I haven't tested it yet, sir," said the technician.

"No time like the present."

"Yes, sir." The tech lifted the Norseman from the bracket. "If you'll just hold this…" He went to a rack and brought over a cage of ordinary mice. Reaching into the cage he selected one and pulled off a few hairs. On the side of the tracker he pressed a button and a panel popped out. He put the hairs on the panel and pushed it back in. "All set."

Riley noted the gun-like shape. "Do I have to aim it?"

The technician nodded. "The signal emits as a cone, so distance and directionality are factors. From far enough away, or poorly aimed, the victim would take longer to die, or possibly escape the cone entirely."

Riley pointed the Norseman at the cage and pulled the trigger. The technician clapped his hands over his ears, bled from the nose, and fell over dead. So did one of the mice, but without all the hullabaloo.

"Well," said Riley, looking at the man's corpse. "I'd say that was a successful test." He handed the Norseman to Vivian. "My lady, your kingdom awaits." From his pocket he pulled out his recorder. "Note to self, re Norseman. Always wear rubber gloves."

* * *

A figure clad in black dangled in a chute of stone, a ventilation shaft cut into the rock that led into the weapons lab. He heard everything, except for whatever made the dead guy shout "What's that noise?" right before he became a dead guy.

Too late. He considered dropping a grenade down there, and taking whatever pieces remained, but his orders were explicit. The whole weapon, nothing less.

Still, there was actionable intelligence to be had. When they left the room he dropped down into the lab, almost on top of the dead guy. He reached into the cage and grabbed the mouse, then hit the retractor on his cable.

* * *

Yet more days later…

"It's like watching a Pink Panther movie," said Chuck out loud.

"Is that your professional analysis, Mr. Bartowski?" asked General Beckman calmly.

Chuck looked up, at his team gathered on the monitor. Casey scowling as usual, but the ladies all seemed to be amused to some (very slight, in the General's case) degree. "I…could use fancier words if you'd like, General…"

"I would like to get on a conference call with my peers in the intelligence community with something more to go on than Jacques Clouseau, yes."

Chuck cleared his throat. "It's a deliberately provoked feeding frenzy, General. She doesn't even need to use the Norseman, just let the news of its existence leak out into the weapons-dealer community and let them tear each other to bits over it. The ones that don't get killed by their fellow arms dealers get mowed down by her mercenaries before they can get close. Soon she'll be the only game in town."

"She said she'd use it to claim her kingdom, she just didn't say how," commented Casey.

"Try 'empire', Colonel, and you'll have some idea of why my colleagues are getting involved," said Beckman. "We may have to accept black markets as a fact of life, but we cannot allow one person to monopolize the business, or take over any more of it than she already has. We have to capture the Norseman, so that we can demonstrate to the world that it has been destroyed."

"You can't be coming to us to do that, General," said Sarah. An observation, not a directive. "She knows all of our faces."

"Correct, Sarah," said the General. "This team will support, but another team will take point when action is called for."

"Do we know what action that will be?"

"No, but we have a general idea. Once the number of players drops below threshold, Vivian will have to change her tactics. We must be ready when she does."

"Use it or lose it."

"Exactly, Colonel."

* * *

Another quiet day in the lab…

"Hey Chuck," said Manoosh. "How's life back in the cave?"

Chuck took a second to reply. "After you've destroyed the Death Star, it's hard to go back to fixing moisture vaporators, you know?" Even with Darth Vivian out there, gunning for him.

"Actually I do, Chuck," said Manoosh, his voice oddly flat.

If Chuck had had something to bonk his head on, he'd have bonked his head on it. "Sorry, Manoosh, didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Bad memories. _Try 'Dark Side of the Force',_ not a memory at all _._ The voice of power, whispering. He turned his back on it again, as he always did. The Dark Side may have had cookies, but it would never have Ellie, or Orion, or the rest of his true friends. "No worries. How's the project coming?"

Chuck was grateful for the change of subject. "Just need an audience."

"I think we can make that happen."

* * *

Another afternoon meeting, not so quiet...

"Good afternoon, team. We've just received…Hannah? What are you doing here? I thought you had a few days left on your honeymoon."

Hannah made a face. "I made the mistake of checking my emails, General. I saw what was up and…we knew my place was here."

Sarah grinned.

General Beckman sat up straight. "Analyst, your country thanks you, and your husband, for your service."

Hannah gaped a second, and looked down, suddenly shy. "Uh, thank you, General."

Embarrassing her wasn't the General's intention, so she redirected the attention of the group back to the mission at hand. "Interpol has recently detained Graciela La Barba, wife of the Italian arms dealer, Ettore La Barba, as a suspect in his recent murder."

Hannah put up two photos of the not-so-happy ex-couple.

"He looks like Morgan," said Chuck.

Casey grunted in a way that normally meant he'd been stabbed.

Beckman ignored him. "Sra. La Barba claims that she was not fleeing the country, but was instead simply going to Moscow to attend the very private auction of a new weapon, as part of her husband's, now _her_ , business."

No one needed her to spell out the implications. Casey took it one step further. "General, you can't be thinking–?"

"Can you think of anyone better suited, Colonel?"

"Better suited than who, General?" asked Chuck, looking from one to the other like a little fat kid hoping to get picked for a team.

"Greta," said Casey, almost spitting, except there were no sibilants in the name.

"Which one?" said Carina, confused. Not the season for it.

"Not _a_ Greta, Miller," said Casey. " _The_ Greta. The only student never to pass Montgomery's little charm school. She's an assassin, and she likes it, but it's all she likes. I'd say she's a dead ringer for the little woman up there, but that joke's too much like the truth."

Beckman added, "She'll be the perfect addition to Vivian's soiree. If things go well, she'll simply outbid everyone for the Norseman, and leave without bloodshed. If not…"

"If not, she'll get to do what she likes doing a lot more than peacefully outbidding other people," said Casey.

"Which is why your team will be on hand to keep her under control, Colonel." Beckman dismissed her team with a more-heartfelt-than-usual "Good Luck."

Casey waited until the screen went black. "This is a horrible idea."

* * *

"Can I just go on record as saying I hate this plan?" said Agent Bartowski (male).

Greta frowned. "It's your plan, isn't it?"

"Yeah it is, but it's not the best."

Greta looked mildly curious, a better expression than the frown and especially the smile. "What's the best?"

"Your enemies all have convenient heart attacks while you're home watching Star Wars on the newly re-re-re-re-re-remastered Blu-Ray edition."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Chuck looked at the demure young woman, dressed in her executive finest. It looked form-fitting, not that he wanted to think about the form with Sarah right there. "Are you ready?"

"My ensemble is complete."

"I meant your weapons," said Chuck.

"I was talking about my weapons."

"Remember the mission objective," said Sarah as Chuck seemed to have trouble thinking of anything else to say. "Obtain the device. Everything else is secondary to that."

Greta smiled. "Thank you."

* * *

Vivian's gaze swept the room as she entered majestically, music from Holst's 'The Planets' (Mars, to be precise) playing in her head to get her into the right frame of mind. Naturally her sweep stopped on the one female face in the room, the one she knew least about. "Graciela, is it?"

Greta stared back evenly, her face a mask. " _Si_."

"So sorry for your loss."

Greta snapped open her switchblade, and started cleaning under her nails. "I'm not. I got rid of an annoying thing. _E' stato divertente_." Then she added, "But only for me."

Vivian smiled. "How pleasant to be able to combine business with pleasure." She moved on to her position, and launched into her spiel. The gentleman around her sat back, playing it cool, while Graciela leaned forward, eager to catch every word of the killing efficiency of this new weapon, until Vivian got to the part about DNA targeting. Then she sat back in her own chair, muttering "A coward's weapon" under her breath.

Then came the live demonstration.

* * *

Casey watched as everyone around the room screamed, covered their ears, and fell, including Greta. "Stay down, I've got the room covered."

* * *

The secret of playing dead is not holding your breath, but rather breathing shallowly and often, so the movement of the ribs is undetectable. Greta lay there, cataloging the reasons why she needed to kill everyone in the room who wasn't already dead.

The woman, for using a coward's weapon.

The man, for being an idiot. The simplest way to flush out a phony, is just to go around the room popping the corpses in the head until you get to–Interesting. Not just her.

 _Braggart MI-6 pretty boy, I'm going to enjoy–_ whoops, too late.

* * *

The sound of the snaps closing on the case prompted Greta into action. She rolled silently to her feet, pulling out (some of) her weapons while shielded by the table. She aimed her guns at their feet and then stood, catching her victims, that is, enemies off guard.

Not off guard enough. Riley snatched up the case and held it in front of him like a shield. "You want this, don't you?" With Vivian behind him, they backed away to freedom.

The door opened, and Carmichael walked in, drawn by the sound of gunfire.

"Agent Bartowski," said Greta, not fooled for a second by the cheesy mustache disguise, "You're just in time." Although five minutes from now would have made her happier. She could have a lot of fun in five minutes. "Grab his gun."

* * *

"Chuck?" asked Casey, staring through his scope. "What do you think you're doing? You're supposed to be in the van."

"I am in the van, guys," said Chuck. "Where do you think I am?"

"Greta!" shouted Casey, "He's a ringer!"

* * *

Carmichael took the gun from Riley's belt, turned, and pointed it at Greta. She ducked behind the table as he fired.

* * *

Casey switched targets, but the positioning was bad. His line on the body-double was partially blocked by Riley, and after him, the Norseman case. Fortunately this guy was tall. Casey aimed for the head.

* * *

Glass shattered and a man cursed in sudden pain. Greta heard Vivian yell, "Riley, take the gun!" and she rose again to take advantage of the lapse.

Riley tossed the case at Vivian and lifted Carmichael's arm. Casey's bullet had gone wild from the reinforced glass and struck him in the shoulder, but there was nothing wrong with his trigger finger. Greta ducked again as the fake Agent Bartowski kept firing even as Riley dragged him backward through the door. She got a couple of shots off at their feet, and was rewarded by a bellow of pain, but the door closed on it.

She got up and ran from the room, but the elevator doors were already closing. "They're in the elevator!"

"Get out of there, Greta," said Casey. "You can't do anything more up there."

Four men in white haz-mat suits emerged from a stairwell, carrying large tubs and bottles of acid.

Greta put her gun away. Too quick. "In a minute," she said with a smile.

* * *

"They're heading for the parking garage!" said Sarah. "The executive elevator has an override!"

"Carina, take the west exit!" They weren't on the right side of the road to get there themselves.

"On it!"

"Chuck," said Sarah, "That's the main exit!"

"I think Carina can handle it."

"Do you think they're actually going to come out the _front_ door?"

A limo pulled out of the east exit at high speed. "I hate it when you're right," said Chuck, hunching slightly as he pressed down on the accelerator. Sarah braced for impact.

They hit the limo at an angle, and the limo did what they wanted it to do. It came to a stop, jammed between their vehicle and the side of the road. Sarah climbed out the window, while Chuck went to check the driver of the car.

Carmichael sat in the driver's seat, stunned a bit, his wounded arm crudely bandaged to stanch the flow of blood. Sarah checked the other side. "Chuck, there's nobody here."

Chuck stood up. "Carina, did you get them?"

"Nobody on this side, Chuckles."

"Then where–?"

"Chuck, watch out!" yelled Sarah.

Chuck heard the sound of an engine and turned to see what was coming. Lines of fire drew themselves along his cheek and he fell back.

"Ha!" yelled Vivian, as their van sped away. The limo suddenly lurched into motion, and Sarah jumped back as it climbed the curb and drove after the van.

Sarah ran to Chuck with a cloth in her hand, pressing it against his cheek.

"Sarah, what are you doing? We have to go after them." Chuck turned to get back in the van but Sarah prevented him from going anywhere.

"No, Chuck! We can't!"

* * *

Vivian Volkoff sat back, smiling broadly, flushed with excitement. "One for me, Agent Bartowski."

"And I'm sure it was very personally gratifying," said Riley, his voice harsher than usual with the pain in his leg. "But we have to go to ground, now."

"No, we don't, Mr. Riley." Vivian held out her hand, her claws, smeared with blood and traces of skin. "Now it's Chuck's turn to hide."


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N** I had this idea for Chuck's project way back in I Love Terror. Like everything else in this season it took more time to develop, and when the boom was finally lowered it caught everyone by surprise.

* * *

"Alright, we're airborne now, Bartowski," said Casey. "You happy?"

"I'll be happy when that bitch's head is on a spike!" snapped Sarah. She reached out and touched Chuck's chin, crooning, "Look what she did to his face."

"I'm looking," said Carina, swabbing gently at the bloody lines on Chuck's cheek. "Between her nails and the truck she really did a number on him. Much worse than you."

Sarah reached up a hand to cover her own cheek. "You noticed?" Not even Chuck saw those lines, his mother had made them invisible.

Chuck reached out and moved her hand down, but still saw nothing. Casey took a squint too, he appreciated a good scar (sign of prowess and all that), but he also saw nothing. Chuck found that oddly comforting.

"Nothing marks you that I don't notice," said Carina calmly. "Especially on the inside. It just took me a while to understand what I was seeing."

Casey understood what he was seeing, and worse, hearing, all too well. "Greta, get me a barf bag."

Sarah and Carina smiled together. Same old Casey. When Greta actually brought Casey his barf bag they burst out laughing. Even Chuck started to smile but winced when the expression pulled on his wounds. Greta looked at them like they were crazy and went back to getting the blood out of her clothes.

* * *

"Don't worry about your appearance, Chuck," said General Beckman at the briefing. "We have excellent plastic surgeons on call. We can't allow an agent of your caliber to be so distinctively scarred."

"It's not the marks but the marking that matters, General," said Casey. "Vivian has his DNA now. She can wipe him out any time she wants."

Carina whacked him on the arm. "Geez, Casey, why not say it in front of the _sister_ , too?"

"Are you nuts? She's ready to blow."

"Good of you to notice, Colonel," said the General. "I'll try to find a way to bring her up to speed a little more tactfully after this meeting, when she gets back from her doctor. Sarah, we'll do everything we can to keep Chuck safe. Let me hear Greta's report, and then we'll review the recordings while we still can, see if there's a reason Vivian hasn't followed through with her bizarre vendetta."

Greta's report of her experience in the meeting room was cold, emotionless, precise, until the gunplay started. Her report of her attack on the hapless cleanup crew showed considerably more…enthusiasm.

"Thank you, Agent…Greta," said Beckman, as soon as she could get a word in edgewise. "You are dismissed."

"Sorry, General," said Casey as she left.

Now _he's sorry._ "Don't be, Colonel, she fit the profile. I knew what I was signing up for."

"I don't know," said Chuck carefully. "Maybe if she just thought of her marks as victims she hasn't gutted yet, she'd do better in Roan's course."

"Don't hold your breath, Bartowski," said Casey. "I think she likes the reputation."

"I'll certainly suggest it to him," said Beckman. "She creeps him out. Let's review the footage, shall we?"

The recordings matched Greta's account remarkably well. "See, General, how far back from the table this guy Riley is standing? Holding the device straight out?"

"He's displaying the weapon."

"I don't think so, General," said Carina, the most experienced shopper. "He would be moving side-to-side, to let each buyer see it at the best angle."

"Instead it's like he's got his field of fire mapped out," said Casey. "He knows they're all in the kill zone. Only his head is moving."

'If we assume Riley is standing as close as he can," said Chuck, "That gives us the maximum angle of dispersion." He drew a line from the victim on the left, to the Norseman, and then to the victim on the right. "Notice how there are no chairs closer to that end of the table? Anyone sitting there would have forced him to stand back here somewhere to get them in the field, and that would have looked too suspicious."

"A shotgun, rather than a rifle," muttered Casey. "That's good. A dispersed field means a reduced range. So Chuck should be safe up here."

"Unless the device can be focused, a beam rather than a cloud."

"Ever heard of 'scatter', Bartowski?" asked Casey, watching the men in the room die. "That sound isn't enough to be killing them."

"At least not without their DNA," said Sarah, sounding doubtful.

"It's not killing them with sound, but they're acting as if they hear it," mused Chuck. "Whatever the Norseman does, their bodies experience it like a sound. A vibration."

Too much speculation, not enough hard data. "Do we have anything on the other spectra?" asked Beckman.

Casey flipped through the different frequencies they had recorded, just the basics. They didn't have the equipment on hand to dig for more. "Infrared shows them getting a bit hotter."

"Could they be, uh, cooked, somehow, like a microwave?" asked Carina.

"Doubt it," said Casey, used to waiting for minutes for his Hot Pockets. "Too small, and it worked too fast."

"There would be traces, if it was microwaves," said Chuck. "Greta brought back some tissue samples, didn't she?" She had something in a bag that was all icky at the bottom.

"She cut off fingers so we could ID everybody," said Casey, "But I suppose you could call them that too."

"This discussion is going nowhere," said Beckman. "We need more data, and we need it fast. Chuck, you will go into lockdown in the lab the second you get back. It's the most insulated room on the planet, hopefully that will mean something. The recordings and the tissue samples will go for analysis. I'll have Vivian, Riley, and this third person put on watchlists at every point of entry, in case they need to get closer than the other side of the world."

"What do we do, General?" asked Casey.

"Are you a praying man, Colonel?"

"Not usually." He'd always been more a 'God helps those who help themselves' kind of guy.

"Then nothing, for now. Dismissed."

* * *

Team B walked into…Fairyland?

"What's all this" asked Chuck.

"Don't ask me," said Manoosh, as he walked by with another strand of lights. "I'm just the harried underling."

"Manoosh!" bellowed Ellie. "They're not twinkling!"

"Cover me." Manoosh ducked behind them as Ellie stormed out of her office, as big as a house and twice as hormonal.

"Where'd he go?"

"Um," said Chuck, as the rest of his team blocked the view as best they could. "Who?"

Ellie reached down and picked up a strand of lights, pulling her assistant out of his cover. "Manoosh. These lights have to twinkle."

"Yes, ma'am."

"This place has to be magical."

"Yes, ma'am."

" _Magical_ , Manoosh!"

"El," said Chuck hesitantly, distracting her, and Manoosh scurried gratefully away, "You're scaring Casey."

 _Uh-oh._ Not distracted, so much as…redirected. Ellie took a step forward, and the entire team took a step back.

Ellie grabbed Chuck's chin, forcing his head firmly to one side, careful not to stretch the skin. She looked at his wounds, but found little to complain about with Carina's first aid. "Why aren't you in the lab, Chuck?"

"On my way." He slid past his sister and escaped. Halfway down the hall a moment of courage overtook him…

"Move it along."

…but it passed, and he sealed himself away from his sister with only a slight pang of regret for the rest of his team. No twinkle lights in here, at least.

Out in the hall, Ellie turned back to the rest of the them, slowly walking backwards. "And where are you three going?"

Sarah looked surprised. "Oh."

Carina looked confused. "Um…"

Casey pointed back down the hall. "Mission…"

"I didn't think so," said Ellie. "I have guests coming and this place has to be perfecter than perfect."

Sarah had a sudden, horrible thought. "It's not the Very Awesomes, is it?"

"The Ve–? Ha. _Ha!_ We'll show you awesome," Ellie threatened as she swept majestically away.

Casey jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the exit so near...

"Now!" said Ellie.

…Yet so far.

* * *

Ellie was missing one of her people. Casey was an artist with the scrub-brush and even Carina was pulling her weight, but she needed someone to get the break room in order, and especially cover up that damned soda machine. Manoosh was still dragging his feet writing a program to manipulate current flow to her non-twinkling twinkle lights. That left Sarah.

Carina suggested she check the bathrooms, but Ellie saw through that little ploy. She went to her booth instead. The sensors there would tell her…crap, apparently. Garbage numbers that fit no known profile, and the waves were all wrong, even she could tell that much. She checked the thermal imaging.

 _Uh-huh._ That was not a Chuck-shaped blob radiating all that heat.

Ellie didn't really need to track Sarah's signals, but the only way to tell the first set to ignore her was to bring up a second set. Ellie shrugged. It was good as an exercise, and some baseline metrics on Sarah might come in handy someday. For fun Ellie started comparing Chuck with Sarah, allowing for the usual gender differences. Chuck's stats had gone down a lot from his training, but he still ran a little hotter than her, in most ways.

Ellie frowned. _That can't be right._

She tightened her focus on Sarah.

* * *

The elevator hummed to a stop. The door opened, and a tall, older man with long shaggy hair got out, courteously holding the door open for the woman following him. He looked around, taking in the hall, the break area. The soda machine. "He wasn't kidding…"

"If only the nation had that kind of security," said the woman. "I wonder how I missed that the first time around."

"Dad!"

Stephen J. Bartowski turned, pretending to search the hall. "That's my daughter's voice, and my daughter's belly, so she's gotta be here somewhere…"

"Very funny, Dad." Ellie hugged her father, nodding at her mother over his shoulder. "I see it didn't take you long to find him."

"Long?" said Mary, amazed by the relative warmth of her son's substitute-mother's welcome. She would have held a grudge much longer. "When I got to the rental agency, they had a car waiting for me with his coordinates in the GPS."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Way to be subtle, Dad."

"Hey, it was twenty years for me, too, you know."

Hands flew to ears. "I'm not listening, I'm not listening, la-la-la-la." Ellie fled up the hall, and her parents followed.

"Who's not listening?" asked Carina, coming out of the office with a towel over her shoulder and her hair in her eyes.

"Agent Miller!" said Stephen. "Happy to finally meet you."

"Orion?" said Carina, recognizing the voice. She brushed the hair from her eyes, an automatic response in the presence of a male.

"In the flesh."

Carina looked him over, smiling. "You look like you sound. I like it."

Mary cleared her throat loudly.

"Relax, Frost, she's not that girl anymore," said Casey, coming through the doorway. He pulled off his rubber gloves before offering to shake hands. "Orion."

"Stephen, please," said the older man, shaking Casey's hand. "This is a family thing."

"In a secure government facility."

"We were asked to come here," said Mary.

"And it's not like I don't know more about this complex than you and Manoosh combined," added Stephen. "Speaking of whom…?"

"Orion!" said Manoosh, coming behind them all and pushing his way through. "I am _so_ glad to see you. Really, really glad. You just have no idea…"

"You're glad, we get it," said Mary. She looked around for the nerd she'd come all the way back to see. "Where's Chuck?"

* * *

Sarah sat on her husband's lap in the Intersect room, listening. His every heartbeat was precious to her.

"Sarah, you have to go." Had to escape. This was the first place Ellie would look.

Sarah tightened her grip, pressing her head against his chest, hooking her legs over the arm of the chair. "I'm not leaving, Chuck," she said firmly. "I'm not going to be locked outside a room, waiting while some loonie with an ultimate weapon is out to kill my husband."

"You can't protect me from an ultimate weapon, Sarah, that's sort of the definition of 'ultimate'."

 _Where's Carina when I need her?_ Sarah imagined herself hitting Chuck on the arm, she was too comfortable to do it for real. "You and Casey are a pair, you know that? First he tells me Vivian can kill you at any time, and now you tell me I can't stop her." She started to cry, getting his shirt wet. "I know I can't protect you, even if I jumped in front of the beam!"

"I'm sorry, Sarah."

"Then stop trying to send me away. Agent Sarah might do some good out there, but Wife Sarah really needs to be here with you."

The CIA had a lot of agents, but he had only one wife. Dying was horror enough, but dying alone was worse. Chuck hated to be alone. He couldn't lie or keep a secret to save his life, so he'd even managed to make sharing into an offensive technique. "Then stay with me for the rest of my life."

That got a bit of a smile out of her. "HIja."

Chuck frowned down at her awkwardly, not really able to move his head since her head was right below his chin. "Sarah? When did you learn to speak Klingon?"

She pulled away from his chest to answer him. "For Comic-Con. It was supposed to be a surprise."

He smiled. "Well, color me surprised."

The door unsealed, the Dreaded Ellie framed by it. "Chuck? Sarah?" Chuck spun the chair around. "We've got company."

* * *

They had to bring in more chairs. When Manoosh had made the original call Chuck hadn't been in lockdown.

"So this is all your fault, then?" asked Carina.

Manoosh ducked behind Casey, a large but not a particularly safe choice. "Hey, I called them because Chuck wanted to show them his project. It wasn't my idea to get the General involved."

Orion twitched. "Diane–?"

"Me, Dad," said Ellie quickly. "Manoosh told me he'd called you, and then I saw all the lights going up, and I thought about how this was our first holiday back together and if I had to spend it stuck in a hole in the ground I didn't want it to feel like I was stuck in a hole in the ground and I'm afraid I may have gone a little bit overboard…"

"A _little_?" said Manoosh, Carina, and Casey together.

"So, Chuck, you have a project you wanted to show us?" asked Ellie.

"Yeah, real smooth, El, but okay." Sarah slid off his lap and Chuck stood, walking over to his console. "Mom and Dad, um…this isn't supposed to be a Christmas present, since I had no idea when I'd get a chance to show it to you, and really, given the audience Christmas would have been a seasonally inappropriate choice anyway–"

"Just play the damn thing, Bartowski!" barked Casey. "Motormouths, the lot of you."

Mary frowned. _Not all of us_. Did her children take so little after her?

"Okay, jeez," said Chuck, twitching his finger on the mouse.

Music flowed from the speakers, as baby photos appeared on the screens, flickering from one to another in time to the music. Stephen and Mary joined hands unconsciously, as the parade of family photos from happier days surrounded them all. Casey and Carina recognized Frost and Orion, and deduced who the children were, since they looked so little like their adult selves. Sarah and Manoosh recognized the photos of Ellie sleeping in the old car. Family photos, some staged but others taken by passing helpful strangers at various vacation spots.

Mary remembered them so well, remembered ducking her head, or moving suddenly, to blur the image of her face. She wondered if it was as obvious to the others as it was to her, how she was promoting her family just to shield herself. Hiding in Volkoff's shadow had been second nature.

As Ellie grew into a young woman, trophies and awards appeared. Physical as well as academic excellence, and Mary smiled proudly. They didn't take completely after their father.

The music turned somber as all the images with Mary in them started falling like rain to the lowest screens, where they vanished altogether. The images of Ellie followed, leaves settling to the forest floor, and tears filled her mother's eyes that so much potential was wasted, lost.

Stephen stopped appearing, too, most likely because he was the one taking the pictures. A young Morgan appeared, and Chuck started to smile again. School photos became most common, but Ellie's awards stopped, as she no longer had the time for the kind of activities that would get her awards.

* * *

Ellie stopped watching the parade, having no desire to remember those days. She moved closer to Sarah. "We need to talk later," she said quietly. "I have something important to tell you."

Sarah nodded, still rapt in her new family's life on the screen. She knew the photos, most of them, from the many albums on the shelves, but the music and the motion made them seem alive somehow, a story being told. She had no photos, no past like this. She had solitude, and pain. In these images she could see the echoes of that pain, but where she had been lost to it Chuck and Ellie had somehow kept each other afloat. "Where have I heard this music before?"

"Probably in the lab sometime," said Ellie. "Manoosh has been fiddling with it for weeks. I hear it all the time now."

* * *

The awards and trophies returned, but this time held by Chuck, earned by Chuck. Yet for every image of his smiling, proud face, there were others of Ellie, also smiling, also proud, always behind him, always supporting him. There he was in a Stanford sweatshirt, Ellie holding him proudly. The awards may have been a recognition of his achievements, but he was her work, her achievement, unrecognized.

Mary sat there, covered in shame, and wondered what the point of this exercise was. Ellie really had done the opposite of everything that she had taught her as a mother. Surely Chuck of all people hadn't intended to humiliate her publicly like this. He was always about the positive.

Then she realized she was doing it again. This wasn't about her, this was about them. The trials, the suffering, were there, but this wasn't about them either. This was a story of triumph, and what was triumph without trial. Ellie may have rejected her lessons but she had to learn them first. Mary wondered for a moment what her life would have been like if she had learned Ellie's lessons instead. Could she live that life, become that kind of mother?

The first image of Devon appeared.

 _Or grandmother?_

* * *

"Chuck, your phone is ringing," said Ellie.

"My what?" Chuck pulled the phone from his pocket, but even if it had had any bars down here, the only people who would have called him were already in the room. "It's not my phone, Ellie."

"Then what's that noise?" said Ellie, clapping her hands to her ears.


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N** Almost done. As someone noticed, Chuck was channeling Star Wars when he said "It's me, Chuck. I'm here to rescue you", but no one noticed how after Ellie was taken to the hospital, Manoosh got all the little twinkle lights working. Just a little hint of his feelings for Ellie that I'd been working in, all series long. I have a lot of Easter Eggs like that in all my stories, most of which are unnoticed.

A while back in this story I had a character watching the Woodcombe house, sending messages to someone. A plot point I thought I might need that it turned out I didn't, but it came in handy here. A lot of people also misinterpreted the line 'it destroys the user' for 'it _kills_ the user', which isn't the same thing at all. I also had a few shoutouts to some of my favorite bits from earlier in the series, like the Dustbin Patrol, and even that poor officer who called Ellie a 'broad' in Sarah's presence.

* * *

When the President travels, he has a motorcade, lots of cars, lots of drivers and guards to keep him safe as he goes about the nation's business. Kings, Prime Ministers, Popes and princes get them too.

Ellie had the Dustbin Patrol.

Carina called Davis, and Casey's Crown Victoria flew down the streets of DC, a motorcade of one, with a police escort fore and aft. In a town full of visiting dignitaries this drew no attention at all.

Hospital services were ready and waiting, and they took over as soon as Casey stopped the car. He didn't notice. "You, you, and you," he said, pointing to the nearest available security personnel. Sarah backed him up as he herded his new team out of easy earshot. "NSA," he said, flashing his credentials. He pointed at Sarah but gave no names. "CIA. DEA will be along in a moment."

"Jesus Christ," said one officer, catching a glimpse of Ellie's profile, and long brown hair through the hovering crowd. "Who the hell is this broad?"

"Eyes front, soldier," snapped Casey, and he suddenly had the man's full attention. "That's need to know , and the only thing you need to know is that no one needs to know. Got it?"

"Sir! Yes, sir," yelled the man, snapping a perfect salute. "It's been a quiet night, sir."

"Good man," said Casey, noting the man's name and badge number. He turned to Sarah. "Keep a lid on things inside. I'll go back to base and brief the General."

* * *

"Chuck!" shouted Devon, unable to pass the officer who took his orders very seriously. Chuck nodded, and he let the doctor through. "Chuck, what's going on? What happened to Ellie?"

Crap. Chuck dragged Devon into an empty room. "How did you know–?"

"The nurse paged me, they recognized her." Devon flipped out his wallet, Ellie's picture front and center.

"You showed pictures of her?"

"Had to," said the blond Adonis. "It's the only way to keep the single ones off me."

Chuck winced. The number of screw-ups concealed in that one statement…Okay, he was here, put him to good use. "We need the top cellular biologist you have here, right now." Worry about clearances later.

"Matt Johnson's the best guy on the East Coast, but he's at a conference."

"What part of 'here and now' did you miss, Devon?"

Devon gestured vaguely back the way he'd come. "Uh…Doug…lab…"

"Good." Chuck grabbed Devon's arm and pulled him from the room and up to the overzealous officer. "Take this guy with you, go there and bring him back with you. _Now_ , Devon. I'll fill you in while Doug is saving Ellie's life." He watched them run off. _Or trying to._

* * *

Back in the lab (Ellie's lab, that is, not Doug's)…

Casey sat at Ellie's desk, using her monitor to deliver the bad news.

"Why Ellie, Colonel? This makes no sense."

"Assuming they meant to target her."

"You think they were after Chuck, or someone else in that room?" asked Beckman. "That the device misfired somehow? I find it hard to believe that Ellie is more genetically similar to Chuck than Chuck is."

Casey shrugged, not a casual gesture. "We know nothing about the Norseman except that Alexei Volkoff felt it was too dangerous to use, and we don't know why he felt that. If it's supposed to kill the user I've seen no sign of it. The only person who called it his deadliest weapon also called his plasma grenades 'impossible to defuse'." He waved a hand, dismissing that claim as the airy persiflage it was. "She may not be able to lie but she may believe a lie someone else tells her."

"I have to agree, Colonel. If only because I can't imagine why or how they'd choose _her_. There's no connection between Vivian and Ellie, and all of Ellie's publicly available documentation uses the Woodcombe name." She sighed. "Still, the first order of business is to go and see."

All due diligence. Ellie spent no time in her fake office, just home or the lab, and there's no way one of Volkoff's agents got into the lab. "Carina's closest."

Beckman nodded. "You return to the hospital to await further developments. I'll send Carina to check the house, and read Hannah in. As compromised as he is, I want Chuck wearing his Agent hat. Leave the analysis to cooler heads."

* * *

"All right, Chuck," said Devon sternly. He blocked the exit, folded his arms and tried to glower. "Let's have it."

Chuck could have moved him in any number of ways, but that was something a spy would do, not a bro-in-law. "The device is called…you know what, who cares what the device is called. It uses the subject's DNA to find them, and to kill them, but we don't know how, exactly."

"Why would anybody want to kill Ellie?"

Chuck turned the other cheek, the one with stripes on it. "They don't, they want to kill _me_."

Devon automatically checked the wounds for infection and leakage, but saw nothing to worry about. "That Y chromosome's a deal-breaker, Chuck. How could something targeted on your DNA find hers?"

"We're about to go looking for an answer to that question, Devon," said Carina, walking up to them. "I just got a call from the General. She wants me to check the house, see if anyone went there for her DNA on purpose." When Devon blanched she added, "We expect the answer to be no, but we need to dot our Is."

"Do you need Devon to go with you?" asked Chuck.

"Me?" asked Devon.

"It might help, it's your house," said Carina, taking the hint for once. "Just try not to touch anything until I give the all clear."

Devon got the door for her. "You're the boss."

"You say the sweetest things…"

* * *

A little later, in a decent but not-too-expensive suburb of Washington DC…

Someone watched from behind the curtains of a house as a car parked down the street and a beautiful redhead, who didn't live there, got out, along with a handsome blond man, who did. The woman walked off around the house, not up to the door.

The watcher got out a cheap, planless phone, scrolling through a short list of contacts. Selecting one, the watcher tapped out a quick note, informing her contact of exactly where Carina Miller was.

* * *

"All right, Charles, what have you got for me?"

Sarah got up and left Chuck sitting by Ellie's bedside. "Devon heard about Ellie and came down, so Chuck used him to get a cellular biologist down here ASAP." She showed him a picture of the guy, in case he came back while Sarah wasn't there. "He took some samples and went back to his lab. Devon is with Carina."

 _And out from underfoot._ "Good thinking."

"It was Chuck's idea."

Something made a chiming sound. Neither Sarah nor Casey bothered to check their own phones, those were always set on vibrate. They looked over to the pile of Ellie's clothes and other possessions that had been left on the other bed. Sarah walked over and pulled Ellie's phone from her bag, to check the display. Who would be trying to text her now?

* * *

Chuck sat alone in his sister's room, by his sister's side. All the skills the Intersect had given him, and he was helpless. All the knowledge the Intersect gave him, and he didn't know what he needed to know now. The secrets in his head were supposed to protect the country, not the people in it, not the things that mattered.

 _Ellie, what do I do now?_

Ellie's hand moved, rising up from the bed to touch her belly. Chuck reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around hers.

Under their joined hands, her skin rippled.

He flashed.

* * *

Carina had finished walking the perimeter, and was doing a room by room check of all possible entrances. Basically she was duplicating the examination the house had received when Daniel Shaw, under the influence of Charles Carmichael, had attacked Ellie nearly a year ago. The entrance he'd used then was still sealed now, and none of the alarms had gone off on the other entry points. The most likely places to attract a DNA thief, bed and bath, showed no signs of approach since the house had last been occupied by its legitimate residents.

More and more it looked like Ellie was an accidental victim, welcome news, but not without its own share of problems.

Devon stayed in the kitchen, making tea, and he didn't even really like tea, but he had to do something and Ellie liked tea. She'd be back to drink it, of course she would. Chuck would make sure of that.

Carina's phone rang. "Miller."

"Carina, someone's watching you," said Sarah.

"Well, yeah, but Devon's been a complete gentleman."

"Kill the lights, scope the neighbors," said Casey, muted until now. They must have been in transit. "We're on our way, but we need you to give us a target."

Carina went into the living room. "Devon, stay in the kitchen."

The tone of her voice made him nervous. He dropped the tea bags too hard and splashed on the counter. "What's up?"

* * *

The lights were twinkling, all over the lab…

"Chuck? What are you doing here?" asked Manoosh. "Who's with Ellie?"

"Our parents," said Chuck, not stopping. "You get my email?"

"Yeah," said Manoosh. "What are you going to do with the upload?"

Chuck turned his Agent Bartowski face on Ellie's harried underling. "What do you think I'm going to do with it? I'm going to save my sister's life, and you're going to make it possible. Right now." He looked away and Manoosh suddenly felt free to move. "While you're doing that, I need to talk to the General."

Manoosh stopped in mid-scurry. "You mean you haven't even cleared this with her yet?"

Chuck waved him on. "I'm not asking permission, Manoosh. I'm apologizing in advance."

* * *

They heard Casey kicking the door in, from three houses away, but that's all they heard. No shots, no resistance. The curtains in the window jerked wildly, and went still.

Carina took a sip of her tea and made a face. It wasn't much of a soothing brain bath (or whatever they called it on the box) when it was warm, much less now. Being the lone agent in a possible assault scenario was no time for a soothed brain anyway. She really wanted a gun in her hand, but they made Devon nervous so the mug was a good substitute. If she'd thought there was a real problem she'd have let Devon be nervous.

After just about long enough, the phone buzzed. "False alarm, Stampede, just a lonely hausfrau. We'll stay here for a while longer, talk to Mrs. Smith about what else she may have seen. You two have to get back to the hospital ASAP."

Carina could think of no good reasons for that, and kept her voice as neutral as she could. "Why?"

"Ellie's gone into labor."

* * *

"Mrs. Smith, the divorcee who lives down the street?" said Devon, adding, "She's got the hots for me." As if someone would find this news.

"You've had a stalker for how long, and you never mentioned it to anyone?"

"She's just a lonely older woman."

"Who texts your wife about redheaded 'other women.' Enemy action is enemy action, Devon."

"She's no enemy."

Carina just drove on, silently. She was very eloquent with silence.

Devon's smile slowly faded. "Is she?" _Not awesome._

"She has hostile intentions and the will to act on them, that's more than enough. Whether she's a threat or not is a different story. She may not be one now, but if she thinks she's unnoticed she'll step up her game. This is good if you're trying to lure a spy into a trap, not so much if we don't want crazed stalkers peeping in our windows." Especially if the so-called 'crazed stalker' really _was_ a spy, using the well-known ploy as a cover to get close. Even if she wasn't, no one tried to hurt one of Carina Miller's few friends and got away with it. "Something tells me she'll be leaving you alone from now on."

* * *

"Chuck!" Ah! Right in his ear.

"Uh, yes, Mom?"

"What do you think you're doing? And it better not be what I _think_ you're doing."

What did she think he could be doing at a time like this? "I'm saving my sister, that's what I'm doing."

"At two hundred miles an hour, inside city limits?"

Beckman must have ratted him out. "Um…no?"

"Chuck, there's no other reason for you to take the Nighthawk."

Actually there was, as Chuck could hear Manoosh trying to explain in the background. As someone whose knowledge of riding a motorcycle came out of a box, he was willing to let the little nerd take point on the whole explanation thing, but then he thought of something frightening. "Why are you there, Mom? Is Ellie improving?"

"I don't think so."

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the hospital…

"Unstable?" said Devon.

Doug tried to see the positive. "Yes, but gradually so. Whatever happened to her, it has her cells functioning at a very low level, and getting lower. It should be enough for us to save the baby, but anything we do to save the child will almost certainly, uh…"

Carina was the only one there who could finish the sentence. "Kill the mother."

* * *

Chuck couldn't believe his ear. "What?"

"They're oxygenating her blood and forcing her heart to beat. It's not helping her but the baby is settling down. We have a little time but not enough to waste."

A second voice popped up in his ear. "Agent Bartowski."

"General," said mother and son together.

"I just got off the phone with Leo Dreyfus. Someone just removed Hartley Winterbottom from his facility against his advice and without his consent. He tried to delay but someone he called Merlin incited a riot and he lost control of the situation."

Had to be Vivian. Strike at Ellie and take her father, like she did before. "I'm almost there. What kind of vehicle, General?"

"A black truck. Hartley was chained in the back."

"I'm on it, Chuck," said Hannah. "Facility cameras show it headed west. I'll try to get a flyby."

"Good," said Chuck. "That means I can open this baby up."

"Don't you dare wipe out on me, Chuck!" said Mary.

He knew what she really meant, what she really needed. "I could use a navigator, if that'll make you happy."

"How about weapons control?" That would make her happier.

"Can I steer?" asked Manoosh.

"They've got a drone!" said Hannah.

"Manoosh, take over," said Mary. She had weapons to prep.

* * *

Mary opened fire, targeting the undercarriage. The tires may not go flat, but they still had to be able to turn. "They're dead in the water," she said as the rear of the truck dragged the rest to a stop.

"Drone is locking on!"

Mary targeted the lift mechanism with the missile, and the slab of metal crashed down, a perfect ramp. Chuck rode up into the truck, safe from the drone.

Hartley was in the back, both cuffed and caged. Someone lay on the floor, keys by his hand. Chuck took them, freeing the man he wanted and locking the door on the man he didn't.

"Who are you?" said Hartley, flinching away from his rescuer.

Chuck took off his helmet. "It's me, Chuck. I'm here to rescue you."

Hartley looked relieved. "Agent Charles…"

"Bartowski!" Chuck looked for the source of the cold, arrogant voice, and found it in the cage. "Winterbottom belongs to me."

"How do you know my name?" asked Chuck.

The man smiled, an unpleasant expression. "I know everything about you and your whole pathetic family, _Chuck_."

"Who are you?"

"My name's Decker," said the man. "Clyde Decker. Flash on that, the next time you load up your precious Intersect. If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him behind."

Hartley clutched Chuck's arm. "Please don't leave me."

"Hop on, Hartley," said Chuck, and Hartley obeyed. "Put on the spare helmet, this thing is fast."

Hartley did as instructed. Chuck grabbed his hands and pulled them tightly around his waist. "Hold on tight. _Do svedanya,_ Decker."

"You're a dead man, Bartowski."

Agent Bartowski looked back. "Mess with my family again and we'll see who dies."

* * *

Chuck and Hartley left the Nighthawk and reclaimed the Porsche, just as good for getting to the hospital, and less classified. No one tried to stop them as they ran into the Emergency Room. The nurse buzzed them right through but when they got to Ellie's room…

Sarah stood there, alone in an empty room, staring at the bed.

"Sarah?" asked Chuck, a world of questions in one breathless word.

"Chuck," she said, coming around the bed to embrace her husband. Then she noticed the other man. "Hi, Hartley."

"Hello," said Hartley, and Sarah gave him a sharp look.

"Sarah, where's Ellie?" said Chuck frantically.

"They took her away a little while ago–"

Chuck's face crumpled, and his body followed. "No."

She grabbed his shoulders on the way down, and pulled him up to see her again. "To maternity. Whatever they did to stop her labor stopped working. They wanted her in a place where they could save the baby if we couldn't save her." She looked at Hartley again.

Chuck was having trouble with words. "Show me."

They took the stairs, faster than those glacial hospital elevators.

In the maternity wing, Chuck recognized the officer from before and went immediately toward him. In an alcove, Devon and Stephen stood talking to a third man in a blue lab coat.

"I'm sorry, Devon," the man was saying, "I have no answers for you. There's no poison, no toxins except the kind she's making herself. Her cells are shutting down and there are no chemical or biological traces to explain it."

"That's because you're not looking deeply enough," said Hartley. "You'd need an electron microscope to see the damage done by the Norseman. She hasn't been poisoned, she's been enhanced, that's the problem. The molecules of her DNA won't unchain."

The lab guy snapped his fingers. "No RNA transfer?"

"Exactly. Without transfer RNA all the DNA in the world won't help her." Hartley looked at the other men. "It's like an executive without a really good secretary."

The lab guy looked at him, offended. This was no time for humor. "Who the hell are you, and how do you know any of this?"

Hartley glared at the man, who took a step backward by reflex. "I know because I built the Norseman. My name is Alexei Volkoff."


	68. Chapter 68

**A/N** Here we are, at the end of the second season of Nine2five. As season one was mostly about Chuck, this one is mostly about Sarah, becoming a 'normal girl', not isolated, not alone, not a spy. The last few episodes set the stage for the third season, in which the new Chuck and new Sarah, and all their surrounding partners and friends, become more a family than a team.

I didn't actually plan to do this story, the nine2five concept was developed for S3, to show off its many hidden virtues. When applied to S4 it became more about correcting its obvious faults. I was not surprised to see the readership of this story drop, since S4 was such a popular season. I don't see this story as being less Charah, though. Just less fluffy, the excess going backward to lighten up S3 and forward to lighten up S5, bringing all three seasons into a better balance of plot, humor, and romance. In everything they do, Chuck and Sarah are front and center in each others' lives, and always will be, even when they're on opposite sides of the world.

* * *

Just a few hours before, on a deserted road somewhere in West Virginia, circa 200 mph…

"Where am I?" said a soft voice, audible only because of the speaker. "Why are my hands… chained?" The voice dropped, seismically. "Decker!"

Chuck tongued the microphone switch, his hands otherwise occupied controlling the Nighthawk. "No, Hartley. This is Agent Charles Bartowski, Stephen's son, riding in front of you. We're on a super-motorcycle. I had to chain your hands so you wouldn't fall off."

"Where are we, Charles?" Hartley asked. "Why can't I see anything?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry about that," said Chuck. "We had to put the lenses for the upload in the helmet, they sort of block the view. Believe me, you don't want to see how fast we're going."

"Upload?" The mere word brought…odd. It wasn't bringing anything. "What upload?" He felt around inside himself mentally.

"The one you tried and failed to make for yourself."

No terror, but there was nothing wrong with his pride. "What do you mean, failed?"

"Do you remember Jane MacArthur, Hartley?"

Hartley started convulsing, pulling against the cuffs securing him to Chuck, but Chuck expected that and kept the bike steady as Hartley cried. "Oh, Jane. You were so beautiful, and I, I was so…so evil. Oh, what I did to you, Jane." He sighed, settling against Chuck's back heavily. "And you. What have you done to me, Charles?"

"Only what I had to, Hartley."

* * *

Just a little while ago, down in the lab…

"Hartley?" asked Mary. Manoosh looked up as she entered and gave her the tranq gun, leaving in haste. Mary put the gun in her pocket. "How are you doing? Where's Chuck?"

Hartley gestured at the closed doors of Ellie's office. "He's in there, explaining to your General how I'm no longer a danger to mankind. I imagine. How are you, Mary?"

She sat opposite him. "I'm…getting better," she said, ducking her head as if trying to convince herself that what she said was true. "Sleeping at night."

"Dreams?"

Only by stretching the meaning of the word could they be called that. "No. No dreams."

"How very fortunate you are."

"No," she said in a whisper. "Just a good liar." Her husband was there to hold her, that was the dream.

"I knew that," said Hartley, with a slight smile. "That's why I called you fortunate." He leaned forward, no longer smiling. "Unlike you I had no dreams. I was unable to deal with the horror of Volkoff even in sleep. Your son saved me from that."

 _Endless torment, horror forever just out of view._ Now it was in view. This was a burden she could, had to share. She drew a long, shuddering breath. "I…used you, Hartley. And I can't even apologize for it."

What would be the point? "You would do it again."

"Yes. I would."

"And you would be right to do so," said Hartley, taking her hand. "You didn't use me, Mary. I was a monster. Mean, dictatorial, conniving. Manipulative and amoral. The only thing good about me was my teeth. You just…aimed me, and looking back on it I can only be grateful that you aimed me in the right direction."

She looked down at their hands. "Yes. Stephen says the same thing."

"We both admired you, you know," said Hartley. "Desired you. Who would not?" He pulled his hand from hers. "But I never deserved you, not like him. And now it's too late."

"It's never too late, Hartley," said Mary, touching his arm gently. "If it's not too late for me, it can't be too late for you. You can always make amends."

He huffed out the ghost of a laugh. "I imagine your son is even now being told to deliver me up to justice, Mary, when we're done. He seems quite good at accomplishing his objectives."

"After a fashion." Mary smiled. "Wait right here. I have something for you."

* * *

Right this very now…

" _My name is Alexei Volkoff."_

Orion blinked. Devon stared. Sarah moved, throwing Hartley against the wall with her knife at his throat.

Chuck's eyes bulged. "Hartley," he forced through clenched teeth. "We talked about this."

"I'm sorry, Charles," said Hartley, a real apology, not an I'm-sorry-I'm-about-to-betray-you apology. "The past, it creeps back, like a nightmare I can't escape." He looked past the knife to the person who held it. "My apologies to you as well, Mrs. Bartowski. Hartley Winterbottom, at your service."

The voice was almost the same, but this was not Alexei's face, nor Hartley's either. Sarah took a step back, knife at the ready but no longer poised to kill. What did Chuck talk about with this man, and why? "Chuck, what did you do?"

"In a minute," said Chuck. "Doug, take my father and Hartley to your lab, you should have a package waiting for you. After that, it's Hartley's show. Go." They left at a gratifying run.

"Chuck?" asked Sarah, her tone implying _Your minute's up._

Chuck looked back at the door to the room where his sister lay dying.

"Your mom's with her now, Chuck," said Devon. "Who was that guy, and why did he call himself by two different names?"

If anyone should be more frantic to get in there than him, it was Devon, so Chuck didn't argue the matter. He took out his phone, and activated an app. It sounded like music to confuse anyone trying eavesdrop, but it also suppressed any listening devices. "Hartley Winterbottom is his real name. He and I had a lot in common," he said quietly, looking for a place to sit. Sarah settled by him, and he took her hand, setting the phone on top of an old magazine on the table. "We both felt unworthy of the ones we loved. He wanted to be his mother's son, so he went looking for a way to make himself into a stronger man. But he didn't really understand strength."

"Volkoff seemed strong enough," said Sarah.

"If your idea of strength is manipulation, domination, and exercise of power, yes. Volkoff was all of those things." Chuck looked up at Devon. "Hartley used the Intersect prototype to upload memories of people he thought were strong, but they were stronger than him. They merged into the identity of Alexei Volkoff and suppressed Hartley entirely. For twenty years Volkoff was the world's most dangerous criminal, until we removed the memories and freed Hartley."

"And you brought him back to save Ellie? Not awesome, bro."

"Not exactly."

* * *

Hartley worked quickly, his every move watched by both Doug and Stephen. "You don't trust me."

"I'm just recording," said Doug, who was in fact just recording the process, in case this weapon appeared again.

"Should I trust you, Hartley?" asked Stephen. "You broke your mother's heart, and I wish I could say that was the worst of your crimes."

Hartley snorted, his hands continuing to do their work. "I don't deny it. But the Hartley you knew was weak," he said, his voice an avalanche, "And nearly catatonic from the weight of those crimes. Your son promised my mother that he would fix her son, and he has."

Unnoticed, Doug's face went blank as he worked through all the pronouns.

Hartley's definition of 'fixed' was very different from his mother's. Stephen hoped Chuck knew that. "So you _are_ Hartley," said Stephen.

Hartley flashed a grin at his former partner. "Oh, yes. Not exactly the Hartley you knew; enhanced considerably by Chuck's much wiser choice of memories to upload. Strong in character, not just in personality." He paused, and then said in a tone of bewilderment, "I feel the urge to grunt a lot."

* * *

From there to maternity…

"And General Beckman let you?"

"I…didn't exactly ask," said Chuck.

"Outstanding," said Devon.

 _But not awesome._ "She's a General."

"I'm a little brother," said Chuck, his voice hard. "She knew better than to get in my way."

"Generals do," said Sarah, knowing this wouldn't be the end of it. "Do I want to know how you did it?"

Treachery and deception. Dreyfus he could have argued into it, but not Hartley. There were lots of ways around that, and as a spy herself she wouldn't have held any of them against him, although Devon might. But telling her about the upload lenses hidden inside the Nighthawk's spare helmet would have meant telling her about the Nighthawk in the first place, and he didn't have the courage for that. "No."

Manoosh, maybe. Hannah might know something, and Sarah resolved to interrogate them at the first opportunity. "Okay." She took his arm, needing his touch. Unfortunately climbing into his lap wasn't an option where they were. She rested her head on his shoulder, looking neither as happy or as tense as most of the people who sat there normally looked. "What do we do now?"

"Sit," said Devon stoically. "Wait."

"What he said," said Chuck, beginning to come down from the thrill of the chase. "Finding Hartley was the extent of my brilliant plan."

"What's he doing, anyway?" asked Devon.

"I couldn't think of anything to do," said Chuck. "I thought maybe Hartley knew of a cure, so I went to get him. We both needed him to be able to remember. I got lucky. _Really_ lucky."

Sarah noticed his trembling, but could think of no comfort to offer him. She squeezed his hand a bit harder.

"Some guy named Clyde Decker took him away from Dreyfus, I had to get him back." Chuck stopped to remember what the nasty man said. "He seemed to know a lot about me, and even the Intersect. Told me to flash on his name the next time I loaded up."

"Yeah," said Devon, "Like you'd be stupid enough to do that!"

Sarah tapped the back of Chuck's hand twice to let Chuck know she heard him, but she had no time to talk, she was thinking too hard. Whoever he was, this Decker guy had to be either incredibly stupid or incredibly dangerous, perhaps even both. Sarah would have loved to ask Hannah about it, but there was almost certainly name recognition software running on him. Obviously he expected them to do it, but Sarah was reluctant to do anything an enemy expected her to do.

Why did he want Hartley?

The door at the end of the hall opened, and a doctor came out, with Mary in tow. "Dr. Woodcombe?"

* * *

Green liquid sloshed in the container as Hartley ran back to the desperate family. He held up the capped vial in triumph as he rounded the corner. "We're here, Charles! We've done it."

Booted feet pounded the floor, and guns cocked ominously behind them. Hartley, Stephen and Doug turned, to find a horde of men with large weapons aimed at them. Stephen pushed Doug behind him as the leader approached. "Congratulations, Dr. Winterbottom," he said, his voice as flat and lifeless as his expression.

"You can't use those things here," spluttered Hartley. "This is a maternity ward."

The scarred man made a show of checking the signs. "Oh. My mistake," he said. He pulled out a silencer and screwed it on the barrel of his gun. "Wouldn't want to hurt little ears." He grabbed Hartley and pushed him back among his own men.

Chuck and the rest of his family surged forward, until the guns came up. "Tommy Delgado," said Chuck, and Sarah remembered where she'd seen the man's ugly face and dead eyes before.

"Charles, catch!" yelled Hartley, throwing the precious vial.

Tommy snatched it out of the air easily. "You should be more careful, Hartley," he said. "What if they'd missed?" The vial fell from his fingers. "Oops."

Chuck dove forward and caught it.

Tommy stepped on his hands, crushing the container, driving the shards into Chuck's flesh. He heard the crunch, but all he felt was his sister's life, dripping through his fingers. He looked up, into the barrel of Tommy's gun.

Tommy lifted his foot, letting Chuck live with his failure, backing away with his prize. "You were warned, Agent Bartowski."

Only Hartley looked back as they left, forcing him along. "I'm sorry, Charles."

Chuck lay there, staring at his hands, running in Christmas colors. Then the pain hit, and he tried to get himself off the ground with his elbows. Sarah and Stephen lifted his arms so he could stand.

Sarah stared at his hands in dismay. "Chuck, the antidote.."

"Don't worry, Sarah," said Stephen.

"You can't make more, Dad, not in time," said Chuck. "It's too late."

"It's all over," said Sarah.

Devon stepped out of the ward, grinning broadly. "It's a girl!"

* * *

They listened to the after-action report on Chuck's phone in the recovery room, as Ellie slept, utterly exhausted. Devon took care of Chuck's hands, while Mary claimed her new granddaughter and the rocker for herself. She didn't look ready to give up either one soon.

"We had them pinned, General," said Casey. "Then Chuck's Winterbottom grenade went off."

"I've never heard of that ordnance, Colonel," said Beckman.

"Let's just say they bit off more than they could chew, hostage-wise," said Carina. Not the meek little mouse they'd expected.

"What happened to Delgado?" asked Beckman.

Carina's confused "Who?" faded into the background as their phone changed hands again. "He abandoned his team and fled, like the traitor weasel he's always been."

"And Winterbottom?"

"We had him in custody, General," said Sarah, "But then he said he had amends to make, and apologized."

"Yeah, right before he flash-banged us. Probably took it off of one of Tommy's men."

"I see," said the General. "We'll hand this off to the Metro Police, I don't think Hartley can get very far on his own."

Mary smiled–

" _Wait right here. I have something for you."_

 _She went to her bag and got a special card wallet out, and returned. "Take this. Use it when you need it."_

 _Hartley opened the wallet. "A bank card?"_

" _Somebody once gave me two million for emergencies. This sounds like an emergency to me."_

" _But what about you?"_

 _She ticked off the points on her fingers. "The CIA reinstated me, paid me, put me on leave, and have already processed my retirement as part of a package deal. Stephen has been busy reclaiming his patents and whatever parts of Roarke Industries were built off them. Roarke's dead and no one's fighting us on that, so money won't be an issue. On the other hand, he'll be needing a business manager."_

 _Hartley smiled. "Let me know if you need a letter of recommendation."_

" _We're good, thanks."_

–and stroked little Clara's face once again.

"How's Ellie doing?" asked Beckman, not in her 'General' voice.

Chuck took the phone off mute, not that anyone there had been making any noise. "Resting comfortably, General. With Hartley as the magnet, Doug slipped right past Tommy's men and brought the antidote inside. My mother is holding my niece right now."

"Chuck, I'm on my way," said Sarah. "It sounds like you're in terrible danger."

"Danger?"

"Mortal peril, Bartowski," said Casey, puffing a bit as he ran. "You need your team on this one, trust me."

Chuck watched his mother rub noses with Clara. "Can't I just face the peril?" What is it about babies' noses?

"Nope," said Carina. "It's too perilous."

His mother, Agent Frost, was cooing. Yeah. _Fifteen minutes old and she beat us easily._

* * *

Vivian Volkoff sat at her desk, hard at work consolidating her acquisitions while meeting her commitments. The weapon-users of the world didn't care much who ran the companies they bought their toys from, as long as they got their toys as required. The Volkoff brand had quickly risen, even higher than her father's had. Carmichael was a treasure, and Riley heaven-sent.

A discreet knock sounded at the door. "Come."

Carmichael opened it, and stood in the entrance. "A messenger has arrived for you, Miss Volkoff."

She didn't look up. "Who from?"

Carmichael hesitated, but had nothing else to say, so he said it. "All he said was, your…your biggest fan."

Vivian looked up, frowning. That sounded a bit like a threat. She liked threats even less than mysteries. "Send him in."

Carmichael invited the messenger in, and followed at a safe distance. The miscreant shuffled across the floor, clearly unused to these surroundings.

Vivian had no time for him to come to his senses. "You have something for me?"

"Yes, Lady," said the man, his Russian as tattered as his clothes.

It wasn't immediately placed on the desk. "Well, let's have it."

He showed her a box. "He said you might pay me."

She raised a brow. "Didn't _he_ pay you?"

"He let me live, Lady. He said you might pay me."

"You will wait outside," she said. "I'll decide what payment you deserve after I see the message."

The man gulped nervously, and put the box on the table.

"Open it."

He lifted the lid and pushed it toward her. Inside was a simple flash drive. He left, and Carmichael left with him.

Vivian pulled out a computer, non-networked just for this purpose. The screen lit up, with a question in English. "The solution to all problems."

She typed _Death_ , and pressed Enter. Her gasped, her heart racing.

Agent Charles Bartowski stared out of the screen at her. "Miss Volkoff," he said. "I was going to say Miss MacArthur, but it looks like your father's warning about the Norseman was true, it does destroy the user. I'm sorry. You're a very good businesswoman, it seems–the growth of your empire is remarkable–but you're a very poor marksman."

Those kind brown eyes hardened into something extremely cold and dangerous. "You _missed_ , Vivian. Unless you intended to kill my pregnant sister, but I doubt you did."

 _Oh God._ Vivian stood and put the chair between herself and the screen. She could almost feel her soul slipping away. Destroyed. Damned.

"I don't know what your issue is with me, or with Sarah, Vivian, but I do know this. You wanted my attention, my _full_ attention, You've got it." The screen went black, and she caught the smell of melted plastic. The power button did nothing when she pressed it.

She got her keys, and fumbled with the lock in the desk. Eventually she got it inside and opened the drawer, getting out a banded wad of money, its value beyond her ability to calculate at the moment. She took a few deep breaths, trying to look her usual unflappable self. "Carmichael!"

He opened the door instantly.

She held out the money. "Take this to that person outside and send him away. And dispose of that," she added, pointing to the dead laptop. "And send Mr. Riley in."

"Yes, Miss." He came forward and took the money and the blob.

She was staring out the window, watching things fall, when Riley came in. "What's the matter, Vivian?"

She turned. "Agent Charles is alive."

He stopped in shock. "That's impossible."

"He told me the most dangerous, most accurate weapon in the world missed, with his own breath and voice. We killed his _pregnant sister_ , Mr. Riley! He'll stop at nothing to destroy us! Me!" She leaned forward on her desk, breathless. "What do we do now?"

Riley pulled out his gun. "There's only one thing we _can_ do."

She raised her head, staring at the weapon in his hand. "What do you mean?"

"Clearly you've outlived your usefulness, Vivian. Had to happen sooner or later. I'm just glad it was later. Losing Hydra was…unexpected."

" _My_ usefulness? You served my father, Mr. Riley. You serve _me_."

Riley shook his head. "Alexei Volkoff was a great man, Miss MacArthur, I could never have beaten him. I just had to wait until he left it all to you and then take it for myself. I'd let Agent Charles do the dirty work, of course…"

"You sent that bomber to kill Agent Walker."

He smirked at her, oozing condescension. "And I arranged Gustav's death, and several others besides. It wouldn't do for you to have anyone else to turn to."

"Did you know the Norseman was flawed?"

"Let's just say, 'unreliable'." Riley shrugged. "Useful enough, in the end. But now the only way to stop Agent Charles from coming after me too is to kill you myself, leaving your kingdom in the hands of someone who'll make a proper use of it. My hands."

Having no bridges left to burn was…liberating. "My kingdom? My father's empire, in your hands? You aren't fit to lick his boots, worm!"

Riley stepped up to the desk, leaned down to look her in the eye. "Your father is the worm, Vivian, you said so yourself. I was going to make this quick, but since you've decided to be unpleasant–"

Vivian swept up her bronze letter opener and impaled Riley's hand, pinning him to the desk. The gun went off but it missed. She picked up her statue of Artemis, and didn't miss. Riley fell heavily on the desk but didn't drop the gun.

Vivian Volkoff ran to the door and safety, closing the heavy wood on another bullet. Carmichael was gone, she'd sent him away like an idiot. She turned to run.

The door opened as she approached, and a bearded man stepped into the hall. She heard the sound of Riley running and bellowing behind her and didn't slow.

The newcomer, strangely, did not look at all surprised. "You might want to get behind me, Miss," he said, pulling out his own gun.

Vivian stopped, and held out a hand. "May I?"

The man opened his hand. "Certainly."

Vivian took the gun from his hand, turned in place and put a bullet between Riley's eyes.

"Nice shot," said the man.

"Thank you," said Vivian, panting. "He always did say I should learn to do my own killing."

Good advice, after a fashion. "I'd say you're off to a fine start."

Vivian took the gun from Riley's dead fingers and held out the one she'd used to its owner.

"I wouldn't hear of it, Miss Volkoff," he said, holding up his hands in negation. "That's your first, it's special. Keep it with my compliments."

"You're very kind."

"Not usually, Miss, and not today." He pulled a gun from behind him and put it in his front holster. "I come with an invitation. The people I work for are very interested in speaking with you about a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Like this one. She could use some allies. "You've certainly presented yourself in the best possible light, Mr…?"

He bowed, like a gentleman. "Quinn, ma'am. Nicholas Quinn."

* * *

 **A/N2** Vivian Volkoff was tremendously wasted; bringing her into the next season really enhanced the story. Anyone who's been reading season 3 of this series knows what a match she was for Agent Charles in almost every way.

One of my favorite lines: "I feel the urge to grunt a lot." No one ever mentioned it, though, and I wonder if anyone got who it was Hartley was talking about. Or maybe I just thought I was being subtle.

Thank you all very much for reading.


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